/ 



y- 



FOUR CENTURIES OF 
ENGLISH LETTERS 



FOUR CENTURIES 



OF 



EJSraLISH LETTERS 



SELECTIONS FROM 

THE CORRESPONDENCE OF ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY WRITERS 

FROM THE PERIOD OF THE PASTON LETTERS 

TO THE PRESENT DAY 



EDITED AND ARRANOED BY 



W. BAPTISTE SCOONES 



L 




NEW YORK 
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1880 



■5* 



V 



TO THE LADY 

TO WHOSE EARNEST CO-OPERATION AND LITERARY TASTE 

THE CHOICE OF MANY OF THE FINEST LETTERS 
IN THIS COLLECTION IS DUE 

THE PRESENT VOLUME IS INSCRIBED 

WITH GRATEFUL REGARD AND AFFECTION 
BY 

HER HUSBAND 



PBEFACE. 



The quality of Engiish epistolary correspondence is not 
surpassed by that of any other European nation. In quantity 
and variety France is our only successful rival. 

So extensive and various are our own collections that he 
Tvho has not made a diligent hole-and-corner search for him- 
self can have no idea of their scope and character. In putting 
forth this volume I need scarcely say that it is not, and can- 
not be, a complete treasury of English letters from the Lan- 
castrian to the Victorian era. I have simply endeavoured, 
after a careful survey of nearly five hundred volumes, to 
make my ' scanty plot of ground ' rich with some of the best 
and brightest flowers of epistolary literature. The preserva- 
tion of an uniform measure of literary excellence, after the 
manner of the Grolden Treasury of Poetry, was the object 
which at first was attempted in the process of selection ; 
but as the field of choice, thus limited, proved to be so very 
narrow, and the authors so few, the addition of letters com- 
bining decided literary merit with features of special interest 
seemed requisite to save the volume from overmuch severity 
of tone. 

Mr. Carlyle somewhere defines good letters as 'an un- 
counted handful of needles to be collected from an unmea- 



viii PREFACE, 

•sured continent of hay.' Griven sufficient time, opportunity, 
and inclination, and most men may explore this vast con- 
tinent ; but it is doubtful whether any single traveller would 
be fortunate enough to pick up all the needles. I am sensible 
of comparative failure after a long journey of research, and 
I know that many a gem must still lurk in dark corners ; but 
I must be content to depend on ' the magic of patience,' and 
to the kindly assistance of all who may take an interest in 
this design, to bring many more fine specimens to light. 

Most of the letters, it will be observed, are introduced by 
a critical or explanatory head-note, worded in as condensed a 
form as possible. As many readers may consider these notes 
somewhat dogmatic, and even entirely superfluous, it is ne- 
cessary to state that their introduction, as a prominent and 
essential feature of the plan, is prompted by the liope that 
the volume as a whole may commend itself to the young and 
unenlightened equally with their more cultured elders ; espe- 
cially as, I venture to hope, there will nowhere be' found a 
page to ofifend the most fastidious reader. 

I am not aware of the existence of any comprehensive 
and well-considered collection of English letters suitable 
alike for the purposes of instruction and recreation, in spite 
of the repeated pitiful complaints that the art of letter- 
writing, so graceful an adornment of our older literature, 
has dwindled down to the proverbial ' hurried scrawl ' of the 
present hour. And yet the study of this art has not been 
abandoned for want of, but in spite of, the urgent advocacy 
of many English classical writers. John Locke, in his essay 
on Education, remarks : ' When they understand how to write 
English with due connexion, propriety, and order, and are 
pretty well masters of a tolerable narrative style, they may 
be advanced to writing of letters ; wherein they should not 
be put upon any strains of wit or compliment, but taught to 
express their own plain easy sense without any incoherence, 



PREFACE. ix 

confusion, or roughness. . . . The writing of letters has so 
much to do in all the occurrences of human life, that no 
gentleman can avoid showing himself in this kind of writing : 
occasions will daily force him to make use of his pen, which, 
besides the consequences that, in his affairs, his well- or ill- 
managing of it often draws after it, always lays him open to 
a severer examination of his breeding, sense, and abilities 
than oral discourses, whose transient faults, dying for the 
most part with the sound that gives them life, and so not 
subject to a strict review, more easily escape observation and 
censure.' 

Political letters, except in very few instances, will be 
conspicuous by their absence. The chief obstacle to their 
introduction here has been the want of sufficient interest in 
any one or two such letters taken by themselves. The cor- 
respondence of politicians is a branch of literature in itself; 
and though political letters are very often most interesting 
in their bearing on questions of domestic and foreign policy 
when read in a collective form, they will be found dull and 
meaningless in fragments. A reference to such works as Stan- 
hope's 'Life of Pitt,' ' The Bedford Letters,' * The Correspon- 
dence of the Duchess of Marlborough,' Grimblot's ' Letters of 
William III. and Louis XIV.,' ' The Correspondence of George 
III. with Lord North,' or of William IV. with Earl Grey, and 
many other such collections, will help to establish my assertion 
on this point. 

In regard to the arrangement of the different epistles, it 
was decided, after qarefal consideration, not to publish them 
in groups according to the subject-matter, but chronologically 
according to the date of each author's birth. With these 
few observations I will leave it to others to expatiate on 
letter-writing as an art and on the varied beauties of our 
own epistolary literature in particular; and will conclude 
with an expression of thanks to those gentlemen who have 
1* 



X PREFACE. 

kindly granted me permission to reprint extracts from recently 
published works. 

To my friend Mr. Edmund Gosse I am very grateful 
for the interest he has taken in the progress of this volume, 
as well as for the benefit I have derived from his scholarly 
criticism, and for several important contributions. 

W. Baptiste Scoones. 

EiDGWAY Paddock, "Wimbledon, 



CONTENTS. 



•** The dates at the beginning of the lines are those of the hirth and 
death of each ivriter. 

SECTION I. (1450-1600.) 

A.D. PAGR 

Lomner, "William, to John Past on , • • . . 3 
Clere, Edmund, to John Paston .... .5 

Paston, William, junior, to his brother, John Paston , 6 
Margaret, Countess of Oxford, to John Paston . . 7 
Margaret of Anjou to Dame Jane Carew . , ,7 

1456-1509. Henry VIL to Sir Gilbert Talbot 8 

1471-1530. Wolsey, Cardinal, to Dr. Stephen Gardiner. . . 10 

1480-1535. More, Sir Thomas, to his Wife 11 

1489-1556. Cranmer, Thomas, Archbishop of Canterbury, to 

Henry VIII 13 

1491-1547. Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn 15-16 

1507-1536. Boleyn, Anne, to Cardinal Wolsey . . . '.17 

1515-1568. Ascham, Eoger, to Bishop Gardiner 18 

„ „ his wife, Margaret . . .19 

1502-1553. Dudley, John, Duke of Northumberland, to the Earl 

ofArundell 21 

1586. Sidney, Sir Henry, to his son, Philip Sidney , , . 23 

Shrewsbury, Earl of, to Queen Elizabeth . , , , 25 
„ „ Lord Burghley . . .25 

1533-1603. Elizabeth, Queen, to the King of France, Henry IV. . . 27 
„ „ Lady Norris upon the death of 

her Son 27 

„ „ James VI. of Scotland . . 28-30 

1541-1596. Drake, Sir Francis, to Lord Walsingham . . .31 

Kice, John ap, to Thomas Cromwell, Visitor-General of 

Monasteries 32 

Beerley, Richard, to Sir Thomas Cromwell, Visitor- 
General of Monasteries . • • • . .34 



xii CONTENTS. 

A.D. PAGK 

1552-1618. Kalegh, Sir Walter, to Secretary Sir Eobert Cecil . . 35 
„ ,, King James I. . . , .37 

1551-1601. Lyly, John, to Lord Burleigh 39 

1561-1626. Bacon, Sir Francis, to Sir Edward Coke . . .40 

„ „ Sir Thomas Bodley . . . . 41 

„ Lord Chancellor, to King James I. . . .42 

1566-1625. James I. to his son, Prince Henry 43 

„ „ Prince Charles and the Duke of Bucking- 
ham 45-46 

1567-1601. Essex, the Earl of, to Queen Elizabeth . . . 47-51 

1568-1639. Wotton, Sir Henry, to John Milton 52 

1522-1571. Jewel, Dr., Bishop of Salisbury, to Peter MartjT , ..— ,»,_«M 

Cox, Dr., Bishop of Ely, to Kodolph Gualter . . . ^ 

1573-1631. Donne, Dr., to the Marquess of Buckingham . . . 69 

„ „ Lady G 60 

„ „ Sir Henry Goodere 61 

„ „ the worthiest lady, Mrs. B. W . 62 

Sir J. H .63 

1574-1637. Jonson, Ben, to John Donne 63 

1590-1632. Eliot, Sir John, to John Hampden .... 64-65 
1591-1674. Herrick, Robert, to Sir William Herrick . . 67-68 

1593-1683. Walton, Isaac, to John Aubrey 68 

1594-1643. Hampden, John, to Sir Jolm Eliot . . . '. .70 

1596-1666. Howe 1, James, to Sir J. S 71 

„ „ his Father 73 

„ „ the Eight Hon. Lady Scroop, Countess 

of Sunderland 74 

Sir S. C 76 

the Eight Hon. Lady E. D . . 79 

1599-1658. Cromwell, Oliver, to the Hon. William Lenthall . . 79 

Cromwell, Protector, to Cardinal Mazarin . , . . 82 

,, ,, Sir William Lockhart . 84-86 



SECTION IL (1600-1700.) 

1609-1669. S Henrietta Maria, Queen, to Charles 1 89 

1600-1649. i Charles I. to Queen Henrietta Maria . . . 91-93 

1605-1687. Waller, Edmund, to my Lady 95 

„ „ Lady Lucy Sidney . , . .96 

1608-1641. Suckling, Sir John, to 97 

1608-1674. Milton, John, to John Bradshaw 98 



CONTENTS. 



xiii 



A.D. 

1608-1674. 



1613-1667. 
1620-1706. 

1620-1678. 



1624- 


-1673. 


1621- 


-1683. 


1627- 


-1705. 


1628- 


-1699. 


1636- 


-1723. 


1630-1694. 


1631 


-1700. 


1632- 


-1704. 


1642- 


-1727. 




1717. 


1651 


-1685. 


1658- 


-1725. 




1687. 


1660-1753. 


1661- 


-1731. 


1662 


-1742. 



1667-1745. 



1667-1735. 
1671-1729. 



1671-1757. 



PAGE 

Hyde, Sir Edward, to Lord Witherington . . . . 99 

„ Edward, Earl of Clarendon, to Mr. Mordaunt . 101 

„ „ Sir Henry Bennet. . 102 

Taylor, Jeremy, to John Evelyn .... 103-105 

Evelyn, John, to Abraham Cowley 107 

„ „ Lady Sunderland 109 

Marvell, Andrew, to William Eamsden . . . . Ill 
„ „ the Mayor and Aldermen of Hull . 113 

Penruddock's, Mrs., last letter to her Husband . . .114 
Mr., last letter to his Wife . . .115 
Newcastle, Margaret, Duchess of, to her Husband . . 116 
Sidney, Algernon, to his father, the Earl of Leicester . 118 

Kay, John, to Tankred Eobinson 120 

Temple, Sir William, to Lord Lisle 122 

Mr. Godolphin . . . . 124 
„ „ Lord Halifax . . . . 126 

Eussell, Lady Eachel, to King Charles II 128 

„ „ Dr. Tillotson, Dean of St. Paul's. 129 

Tillotson, Dr., to the Earl of Shrewsbury. . . .131 

„ „ Lady Eachel Eussell . . . . 133 

Dryden, John, to John Dennis 136 

„ „ Elizabeth Thomas 139 

Locke, John, to Lady Calverley 141 

Newton, Sir Isaac, to Eichard Bentley. . . . . 143 
Lloyd, Dr., Bishop of St. Asaph, to Dr. Fell, Bishop of 

Oxford 144 

BrowTie, Tom, to a Lady who smoked tobacco . . .146 
Otway, Thomas, to Madam Barry . . . . .147 
Plaxton, the Eev. George, to Ealph Thoresby . . . 148 
G Wynne, Nell, to Lawrence Hyde . . . . .149 

Sloane, Sir Hans, to John Eay 150 

De Foe, Daniel, to the Earl of Halifax . . . 151-153 

Bentley, Dr. Eichard, to John Eveh-n 155 

„ „ the Archbishop o£ Canterbury . 156 

Swift, Dr., to the Earl of Halifax 159 

„ Dean, to Archbishop King 161 

„ „ the Earl of Oxford 164 

5, „ Lord- Treasurer Oxford . . . . 166 

„ Mrs. Moore . . . ... .168 

Arbuthnot, Dr., to Dean Swift 170 

Steele, Eichard, to Mary Scurlock . . • . . 171 
„ „ Lady Steele . . . ... 172 

„ the Earl cf Halifax . . . .173 

Gibber, Colley, to Mrs. Pilkington . , , , . 174 



XIV 



CONTENTS. 



A.D. 

1672-1719. 



1678-1752. 



1684-1752. 
1688-1744. 



1689-1761. 
1690-1762. 



1694-1773. 



Addison, Joseph, to Charles Montagu 
„ „ Bishop Hough 

„ „ Chamberlain Dashwood 

„ ,, Mr. Secretary Craggs . 

Bolingbroke, Lord, to Dean Swift . 

„ „ Swift, Pope, and Gay 



PAGB 

. 176 
. . 178 
. 180 
. . 181 
. 182 
. . 184 
„ „ and Alexander Pope, to Dean Swift 184 

Berkeley, Dr., to Alexander Pope 187 

Pope, Alexander, to Eichard Steele 189 

Dean Swift ... . , 191 

„ „ Lady Mary "Wortley Montagu . . 192 

Kichardson, Samuel, to Aaron Hill . .... 196 

Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley, to E. W. Montagu , . 198 

„ „ „ Mrs. S. C^ . . 200 

„ „ „ the Countess of Mar . 202 

„ „ „ her daughter, the Coun- 

tess of Bute . 207-214 
Chesterfield, the Earl of, to his son, Philip Stanhope. 21 5-222 
Taylour, Charles, to the Publisher Eich , ... 224 



SECTION IIL (1700-1800.) 

1703-1791. Wesley, John, to a Friend . . . , 
„ „ John King . . , , 

„ „ Charles Wesley 

1707-1754. Fielding, Henry, to the Hon. George Lyttleton , 
1708-1778. Pitt, William, to his wife, Lady Chatham 
1709-1784. Johnson, Dr. Samuel, to the Hon. Warren Hastings 
„ „ „ Earl of Chesterfield 

„ „ „ Laird of Easay . 

„ „ „ Mrs. Piozzi 

1739-1821. Piozzi, Mrs., to Dr. Samuel Johnson 

1711-1776. Hume, David, to 

„ „ Jean Jacques Eousseau . 

„ „ Dr. Blair 

J 713-1768. Sterne, Lawrence, to Miss Sterne . , , 
„ „ Ignatius Sancho . , 

1714-1763, Shenstone, William, to Mr. Graves . 

„ „ Eichard Jago 

1716-1771. Gray, Thomas, to the Eev. Norton Nicholls . 
1717-1797. Walpole, the Hon. Horace, to Sir Horace Mann 
„ „ „ William Pitt. 



. 229 
. . 231 

. 232 
. . 233 

. 235 
. . 236 

. 238 

. 239 

240-241 

. 242 
. . 243 

. 246 
. . 248 

. 249 

. 250 
. . 251 

. 253 
255-257 
259-261 
. . 264 



CONTENTS. 



XV 



A.D. PAGE 

1717-1797. Walpole, the Hon. Horace, to George Montagu . 265-268 

the Earl of Strafford . .270 
„ „ „ Editor of the Miscellanies 

of Chatterton 272 

1720-1793. White, Gilbert, to Hester Chapone 274 

1720-1800. Montagu, Mrs. Elizabeth, to Gilbert West . . 277-279 

„ „ „ Benjamin Stillingfleet . . 280 

David Garrick . . .282 

Fordyce, Dr., to David Garrick 281 

1723-1792. Keynolds, Sir Joshua, to Mr. Barry 286 

1726-1759. Wolfe, Major James, to Mrs. Wolfe 288 

„ Lieut-Col. James, to Mrs. Wolfe .... 290 
1727-1797. Wilkes, John, to Lords Egremont and.Halifax . . . 291 

„ „ Humphrey Cotes 292 

1728-1774. Goldsmith, Oliver, to Griffith the Publisher. . . . 295 

„ „ Maurice Goldsmith . . . 297 

„ „ Bennet Langton . . . .299 

Markham, Dr., to the Duchess of Queensbury . . . 300 

3 729-1797. Burke, Edmund, to the Eight Hon. William Gerard 

Hamilton 301 

r Francis, Philip, to the Eight Hon. Edmund Burke . . 301 
\ Burke, the Eight Hon. Edmund, to Philip Francis . . 307 

Junius to Sir William Draper 311 

„ „ the Duke of Grafton 313 

1731-1800. Cowper, William, to Clotworthey Eowley . . . . 318 

„ „ Joseph Hill 320 

„ „ Mrs. Newton 321 

„ „ the Eev. John Newton . . 322-324 

„ „ LadyHesketh 325 

„ „ Mrs. Charlotte Smith . . .327 

the Eev. Walter Bagot . . . 328 

1737-1794. Gibbon, Edward, to Dr. Priestley .... 330-331 

Lord Sheffield 331 

1740-1795. Boswell, James, to David Garrick 333 

Erskine, Andrew, to James Boswell 335 

• 1819. Moser, Mary, to Henry Fuseli 337 

1745-1833. More, Mrs. Hannah, to Mrs. Gwatkin 339 

„ „ „ Mrs, Boscawen .... 341 

1748-1825. Parr, Dr. Samuel, to Mr. Cradock 342 

1752-1803. Eitson, Joseph, to Sir Harris Nicolas .... 345 

1752-1840. D'Arblay, Madame, to Mrs. Lock 346 

1753-1821. Inchbald, Mrs., to the Eev. J. Plumptre . . . .348 

1754-1832. Crabbe, George, to Edmund Burke 350 

„ the Eev. George, to the Eight Hon. Edmund Burke 353 



xvi CONTENTS. 



A.D. 



PAGE 



1756-1836. Godwin, William, to Samuel Taylor Coleridge , . . . 353 
„ „ Percy Bysshe Shelley . , . 355 

„ „ Mrs. Shelley 359 

1757-1828. Blake, William, to John Flaxman 360 

] 757-1833. Sotheby, William, to Professor Wilson . . . . 362 

1758-1805. Nelson, Horatio, to Mrs. Nelson 363 

„ Commodore, to Mrs. Nelson 364 

„ „ „ the Hon. Sir Gilbert Elliot . .366 

„ Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio, K.B., to Admiral 

Sir John Jervis, K.B. 367 

„ Rear-Admiral Sir Horatio, K.B., to Lady Nelson . 368 
„ Vice-Admiral Sir Horatio, K.B., to the Rev. Dr. 

Nelson 368 

„ „ „ to Alexander 

Davison . 369 

„ Lord, to Lady Hamilton 370 

1759-1792. Burns, Robert, to Miss Ellison Begbie . , . .371 
„ „ the Earl of Glencairn . , . , . 372 

Peter Hill 373 

„ „ Mr. Graham of Fintray . ... 375 

1759-1808. Porson, Richard, to Dr. Postleth wait e . . . .376 
1759-1833. Wilberforce, William, to the Earl of GaUoway . . . 878 
] 759-1797. WolJstonecraft, Mary, to Captain Imlay . .. -.379-381 

1763-1855. Rogers, Samuel, to Thomas Moore 382 

1766-1848. Disraeli, Isaac, to William Godwin 385 

Dr. Dibdin . .... 386 

1767-1849. Edgeworth, Miss Maria, to Miss Sydney Smith . . 387 
1769-1852. Wellington, Lieut-Gen. Viscount, to the Right Hon. Sir 

W. W. Pole . . . 389 

„ „ „ to , . . . 392 

„ Field- Marshal the Marquess of, to Lord 

Burghersh 393 

„ Field- Marshal the Duke of, to Sir J. Sinclair, 

Bart 394 

„ „ „ to Francis Mudford . - . 396 

„ „ „ Lord FitzRoy Somerset . 396 

1770-1850. Wordsworth, William, to Sir George Beaumont . . 397 

„ „ Alexander Dyce . . . . 398 

1771-1832. Scott, Walter, to George Crabbe 399 

the Rev. T. Frognall Dibdin . 401-404 

{Plymley, Peter, to his brother Abraham .... 405 
Smith, the Rev. Sydney, to Lady Holland . . . . 411 
„ „ „ Roderick Murchison . .412 

the Rev. R. H. Barham . .413 



CONTENTS. 



A.D. 

1771-1845 


1772- 


-1831 


1772 
1773- 


-1835 
-1850 



1771-1843. 



1775-1831. 



1775-1864. 

1776-1835. 

1776-1837. 

1777-1835. 
1779-1852. 

1781-1864. 
1784-1865. 

1784-1859. 

1785-1854. 
1785-1806. 

1785-1840. 
1786-1846. 

1786-1859. 
1788-1824. 



Smith, the Rev. Sydney, to the Editor of the * Mornin 

Chronicle ' 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, to Josiah Wade 
„ „ „ Joseph Cottle . 

„ „ „ William Godwin 

Hogg, James, to Professor John Wilson 
Jeffrey, Francis, to his brother, John Jeffrey 
„ „ Thomas Campbell . 

„ „ William Empson 

„ „ Charles Dickens 

Southey, Robert, to Miss Barker 

„ „ Joseph Cottle ► 

„ „ John Rickman . 

Lamb, Charles, to Robert Sonthey 

„ „ Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

„ „ William Wordsworth 

„ „ Thomas Manning . 

„ „ Mr. Cary . . , . 

Landor, Walter Savage, to Robert Southey 
„ „ „ Dr. Samuel Parr 

„ „ „ Robert Southey 

Mathews. Charles, to Mrs. Mathews 

,, „ the Rev, Paschal Strong 

Constable, John, R.A,, to Mr. Dunthorne . 
„ „ „. the Rev. J. Fisher 

Ireland, Samuel W, H., to Dr. Samuel Parr. 
Moore, Thomas, to Miss Godfrey 

„ „ Samuel Rogers 

Aikin, Miss Lucy,, to Dr. Channing . 
Palmerston, Lord, to Viscount Granville 

Sir H. L. Bulwer . 
Hunt, Leigh, to Mr. Ives .... 

,,. „ Joseph Severn. 

Wilson, John, to James Hogg 
AVhite, Henry Kirke, to John Charleswortli 

„ „ „ Peter Thompson 

Wilkie, Sir David, to Miss Wilkie . 
Hay don, Benjamin Robert^ to John Keats . 
„ „ M'iss Mitford 

„ ,,. „ William Wordsworth 

De Quincey, Thomas,, to Jessie Miller . 

„ „ his daughter, Margaret 

Byron, Lord, to Henry Drury 
,, ., Sir Walter Scott 



451 



475 



Crai 



414 
417 
418 
420 
421 
422 
424 
425 
427 
428 
430 
432 
432 
433 
434 
436 
438 
439 
440 
441 
442 
443 
445 
446 
448 
449 
-453 
455 
458 
460 
462 
464 
465 
468 
470 
472 
473 
478 
480 
481 
483 
485 
486 



xviii CONTENTS. 

A.D. PAGE 

1788-1824. Byron, Lord, to John Murray , . . • . . . 487 

„ „ Thomas Moore 488 

„ „ the Marchesa Guiccioli . . . . 489 

„ „ Thomas Moore 490-492 

Sheppard, John, to Lord Byron . . , . . . 493 

Byron, Lord, to John Sheppard 495 

1788-1841 /" liamsbottom, Miss Dorothea, to Mr. Bull . . . .496 

' \ Hook, Theodore, to Charles Mathews . • . . 499 

1788-1845. Barham, the Eev. E. H., to Mrs. Hughes . . . . 500 

Dr. Wilmot of Ashford . .503 
1789-1849. Blessington, Lady, to Walter Savage Landor . . . 504 
1792-1822. Shelley, Percy Bysshe, to Henry Eeveley . . .506 

„ Leigh Hunt , . . . 507 

„ „ to . . . , .509 

1793-1873. Macready, W. C, to Frederick Pollock . . . . 510 

„ „ Mrs. Pollock 513 

1795-1842. Arnold, the Eev. Thomas, D.D., to the Eev. F. C. Black- 
stone . . . , 515 

Arnold, the Eev. Thomas, D.D., to an old pupil at Oxford. 516 
„ „ „ Mr. Justice Coleridge . 517 

„ „ 5, the Eev. G. Cornish . 519 

1796-1821. Keats, John, to W. Bailey 519 

„ ,, Mr. Eeynolds . . . , % .520 

1799-1845. Hood, Thomas, to his Daughter 522 

„ „ Charles Dickens 523 

„ „ May Elliot 523 

„ „ Sir Eobert Peel ..... 624 



SECTION IV. (1800- .). 

1800-1859. Macaulay, Thomas Babington, to his Mother » . . 629 

his Father . , 530-531 

„ „ „ Thomas Flower Ellis . 532 

„ „ „ Macvey Napier . 535-539 

1802-1876. Martineau, Harriet, to a Friend in America . . . 542 

1803-1857. Jerrold, Douglas, to Miss Sabilla Novello . . .545 

1803-1849. Beddoes, Thomas Lovell, to Bryan Waller Procter . . 547 

1803-1878. Mathews, Charles J., to his Father 548 

„ „ his Mother 550 

„ „ Manager of the Gaiety Theatre . 551 

1805-1873. Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, to Lady Blessington . . 552 
1811-1863. Thackeray, William M., to the Hon. W. B. Eeed . 554-556 



CONTENTS. xix 

A.D. PAGE 

1812-1870. Dickens, Charles, to Mr. T. J. Thompson . . . . 558 
„ „ Messrs Forster, Maclise, and Stan- 
field 559 

„ „ Mary Cowden Clarke . . . . 560 

„ „ his youngest child . , . .561 

1816-1853. Eobertson, the Rev. F. W., to . . . 562-564 

1819-1875. Kingsley, the Rev. Charles, to Mr. Wood . . .565 

J. M. Ludlow . . . 566 

„ „ „ Mrs. Gaskell . . .568 

„ „ „ a Clergyman . . . 569 

1819-1861. Consort, the Prince, to the Crown Princess of Prussia 572-573 



SECTION I. 



A.D. 1450-1600. 



Forty years ago, Mr. Hallam, referring to an imperfect edition 
of the' Paston Letters/ by Mr. Fenn, remarked that they alone 
supplied 'a precious link in the chain of the moral history of Eng- 
land.' These letters come to us as a * track of continuous light/ 
in a century notoriously barren of literary efibrt, and help to 
develop not only the domestic, but the political history of Eng- 
land from A.D. 1422 to 1509. We are indebted to Mr. James 
Gairdner for as complete and clear an account ot the Paston 
Correspondence as it is at present possible to obtain. This 
edition, completed in 1875, contains 400 additional letters, 
besides many interesting documents which are published for the 
first time. The following letter describes the capture and 
murder of the Duke of Suffolk, the most able of Henry the 
Sixth's counsellors. 

William Lomner to John Paston. 

May 5, 1450. 

Byght worchipfull Sir, — I recomaunde me to yow, and am 
right soiy of that I shalle sey, and have soo wesshe this litel bille 
with sorwfulle terys, that on ethes ye shalle reede it. 

As on Monday nexte after May day there come tydyngs to 
London that on Thorsday before the Duke of Suffolk come unto 
the costes of Kent full nere Dover with his ij shepes and a litel 
spynner; the qweche spynner he sente with certyn letters to 
certyn of his trustid men unto Caleys warde, to knowe howe 
he shuld be resceyvyd; and with him mette a shippe callyd 
Nicolas of the Towre, with other shippis waytyng on hym, and by 
hem that were in the spynner, the maister of the Nicolas hadde 
knowlich of the Dukes comyng. And whanne he espyed the 
Dukes shepis he sente forthe his bote to wete what they were, and 
the Duke hymselfe spakke to hem, and seyd he was be the Kyngs 
comaundement sent to Caleys ward, &c. 



4 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

And they seycl he most speke with here master. And soo he, 
with ij or iij of his men, wente forth with hem yn here bote to 
the Nicolas; and whanne he come, the master badde him 'Welcom, 
Traitor,' as men sey ; and forther the maister desyryd to wete yf 
iho shepmen wolde holde with the duke, and they sent word they 
wold not yn noo wyse ; and soo he was yn the Nicolas tyl Satur- 
day next folwyng. 

Soom sey he wrotte moche thenke to be dely verd to the Kynge, 
but that is not verily knowe. He hadde his confessor with hym. 

And some sey he was arreyned yn in the sheppe on here maner 
upon the appechements and fonde gylty. 

Also he asked the name of the sheppe, and whanne he knewe 
it, he remembred Stacy that seid, if he myght eschape the daunger 
of the Towr he should be saffe ; and thanne his herte fay 1yd him, 
for he thowghte he was desseyvyd, and yn in the syght of all his 
men he was drawyn ought of the grete shippe yn to the bote ; and 
ther was an exe, and a stoke, and oon of the lewdeste of the shippe 
badde him ley down his hedde, and he should be fair ferd wyth, 
and dye on a swerd ; and toke a rusty swerd, and smotte of his 
hedde withyn halfe a doseyn strokes, and toke away his gown of 
russet, and dobelette of velved mayled, and leyde his body on the 
sonds of Dover ; and some sey his hedde was set oon a pole by it, 
and hes men sette on the londe be grette circumstaunce and preye. 
And the shreve of Kent doth weche the body, and sent his under 
shreve to the juges to wete what to doo, and also to the Kynge 
whatte shalbe doo. Forther I wotte nott, but this fer is that ji the 
proces be erroneous, lete his concell reverse it. 

Sir Thomas Keriel is taken prisoner and alle the legge 
Imrneyse, and aboute iij. m^* (3000) Englishe men slayn.^ 

Mathew Gooth with xv° (1500) fledde, and sayvd hym selfe 
and hem; and Peris Brusy was cheffe capteyn, and hadde x"^^ 
(10,000) Frenshe men and more. I prey you lete my mastras 
your moder knowe these tydingis, and God have you all in his 
kepyn. 3 prey you this bille may recomaunde me to my mastrases 
your moder and wyfe, 

Wretyn yn gret hast at London the v. day of May. 

W. L. 

' Reference to a battle fought near Caen during the French war. 
Our troops sent to the aid of the Duke of Somerset in Normandy were 
defeated. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, 



II. 



Henry VI., after a period of mental derangement, recognises 
his infant son, Edward, Prince of Wales. 

Edmund Clere to John Paston. 

January 9^ 1465. 

Kight welbeloved cosyn, — I recomaimd me to you, latyng you 
wite such tidings as we have. 

Blessed be God, the King is wel amended, and hath ben syn 
Cristemesday, and on Seint Jones day comaunded his awmener to 
ride to Caunterbury with his offryng, and comaunded the secre- 
tarie to oflfre at Seint Edwards. 

And on the Moneday after noon the Queen came to him, and 
brought my Lord Prynce with her. And then he askid what the 
Princes name was, and the Queen told him Edward ; and then he 
hild up his hands and thankid God therof. And he seid he never 
knew til that tyme, nor wist not what was seid to him, nor wist 
not where he had be, whils he hath be seke til now. And he 
askid who was godfaders, and the Queen told him, and he was well 
apaid. 

And she told him that the Cardinal ^ was dede, and he seid he 
knew never thereof til that tyme ; and he seid oon of the wisist 
Lords in his land was dede. 

And my Lord of Wynchestr and my Lord of Seint Jones were 
with him on the morrow after Tweltheday, and he speke to hem 
as well as ever he did ; and when thei come out thei wept for joye. 
And he seith he is in chaiitee with all the world, and so he wold 
all the Lords were. And now he seith matyns of Our Lady and 
evesong, and herith his Masse devoutly; and Richard shall tell 
yow more tidings by mouth. 

I pray yow recomaund me to my Lady Morley and to Maister 
Prior, and to my Lady Felbrigge and to my Lady Hevenyngham, 
and to my cosyn your moder, and to my cosyn your wife. 

Wreten at Grenewich on Thursday after Twelftheday 

Be your cosyn 

Edmund Clere. 

1 John Kemp, Cardinal Archbishop of Canterbmy and Chancellor, who 
died nine months before the date of this letter. 
2 



ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 



III. 



If the style of correspondence of the Piibllc-Sclioolboy of the 
fifteenth century was more finished than it is to-day, the sub- 
ject-matter seems much the same : viz.,, money, clothes, and 
exeats. 

William Paston, junior, to his brother, John Paston. 

Nov. 7, 1478. 
[Written from Eton College.] 

Kyght reverent and worchepful brodyr, — I recomaunde me on 
to you, desyrynge to here of yowre welfare and prosperite ; letynge 
yow wete that I have resevyd of Alvs^edyr a lettyr, and a nobyll in 
gowlde therin. Ferthermor my creansyr ^ Mayster Thomas, hertely 
recomandyd hym to yow, and he praythe yow to sonde hym sum 
mony for my comons; for he seythe ye be xx*^^. [twenty-two 
shillings] in hys dette, for a monthe was to pay for when he had 
mony laste. 

Also I beseche yow to sende me a hose clothe, one for the haly- 
days of sum colore, and anothyr for the workyng days, how corse 
so ever it be it makyth no matyr ; and a stomechere, and ij schyrtes, 
and a peyer of sclyppers. And if it lyke yow that I may come 
with Alwedyi" be watyr, and sporto me with yow in London a day 
or ij thys terme tyme, than ye may let all thys be tyl the tyme 
that I come, and than I wol telle yow when I schall be redy to 
come from Eton, by the grace of God, Whom have yow in Hys 
kepyng. 

Wretyn the Saturday next aftyr All Halown Day with the 
hand of your brod}'r, 

William Paston. 



IV. 

The Viscount Lovell here referred to was one of the adhe- 
rents of Richard III., who was attainted on the accession of 
Henry VII. An unsuccessful conspirator on his own account, 
he fought on the side of the impostor Lambert Simnel, at the 
battle of Stoke a.d. 1487, and is said to have been drowned in 
the river Trent while beating a retreat from the royalist troops. 

» Creditor. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, 



Margaret, Countess of Oxford, to John Panton. 

. - May 39,1486. 

To my right trii.sti and welbiloved John Paston, 
Shrieve of Norftblk and Suffolk. 

liight trusti and welbiloved, — I recomaimd me iirto you. And 
for as moclie as I am credebly enfourmed that Fraunceis, late Lorde 
Lovell, is now of late resorted into the Yle of Ely, to the entente 
by alle lykelyhod, to finde the waies and meanes to gete him ship- 
ping and passage in your costes or ellis to resorte ageyn to sein- 
tuary, if he can or maie ; I therfor hertily desire praie yow, and 
neverthelesse, in the Kinges name streibly chargie you that ye in 
all goodly haste endevore your self that such wetche or other 
meanes be used and hadde in the poorts, and creks, and othre 
places wher ye thinke necessary by your discrecion, to the letting 
of his seid purpose ; and that ye also use all the waies ye can or 
maie by your wisdom to the taking of the same Lorde Lovell. 
And what pleasur ye maie do to the Kingis Grace in this matier, 
I am sure, is not to you unknowen. And God kepe you. 

Wretyn at Lavenham, the xix day of May. 

Margaret Oxynford.* 



This very curious letter is printed in the Camden Society's 
publications for the year 18G3. The young Q,ueen jMaro-aret of 
Anjou is urging the suit of a member of her household, a 
staunch Lancastrian of the Red Rose, for the hand of a wealthy 
widow who had the disposal of seventeen manors. But Dame 
Carew was not to be inveigled b}'- royal advances. She bestowed 
her hand and chattels real on the handsome young De Vera, 
brother of the twelfth Earl of Oxford. 

Margaret, Queen of Henry VI., to Dame Jane Carew. 

Eltham [1450]. 
By the Queen. 

Right dere and welbeloved, we grete you well ; and, for as 
moch as oure trusty and welbeloved Squier, Thomas Burneby, 

' Daughter of Eichard Neville, Earl of Salisbury and sister of Richard, 
Earl of Warwick. 



8 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

sewer of our mouth, aswel for the greet zele, love, and affeccion 
that he hath unto yo^ personne, as for the womanlj and vertuouse 
governance that ye be renowned of, desireth with all his hert to 
do you worship by wey of mariage, bifore all creatures lyvyng, as 
he saith ; We, desiryng th' encres, furtherance, and preferring of 
oure said squire for his manyfold merits and deserts, as for the good 
service that he hath done unto my lord and us, and yet therin dayly 
continueth, praye you right affectuously, that, at reverence of us, 
ye will have oure said squire towards his said mariage especially 
recommended, inclynyng you to his honest desire at this tyme j the 
rather by contemplacion of this oure praier, wherin we trust 
verreily ye shul mowe pourvey right well for yo'^ self, to yo'^ greet 
worship and hertsease, and cause us to have yow both in suche 
tendernesse and faver of our good grace, that by reason ye shul 
holde you right well content and pleased ; and how ye thinke to 
be disposed to our pleasir in this partie, ye will acertein us by the 
bringer of these. As Our singler trust is in yow. 

Given, etc. at Eltham, the, etc. 

To Dame Jane Carew. 

VI. 

Oonsidering the weakness of Henry VII.'s title to the throne, 
and considering also the fact that among the small remnant of 
* Greater Barons ' who sm-vived the Wars of the Roses, the 
wearers of the white rose were the more numerous after the 
battle of Bosworth, it is not surprising that Henry of Richmond, 
during the first years of his reign, was set the troublesome task 
of beating off pretenders to his throne. The Court of Bur- 
gundy, where the sister of our Edward IV. was despotic, was 
the rendezvous of the disaffected Yorkist nobility. 

Henry YII. to Sir Gilbert Talbot, 

Kenilworth Castle : July, 1493. 
Trusty and well beloved, — We greet you well; and not for- 
getting the great malice that the Lady Margaret of Burgundy 
beareth continually against us, as she showed lately in sending 
hither of a feigned boy, surmising him to have been the son of the 
Duke of Clarence, and caused him to be accompanied with the 
Earl of Lincoln, the Lord Lovel, and with great multitude of 
Irishmen and of Almains, whose end, blessed be God, was as ye 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 9 

know well. And foreseeing now the perseverance of the same her 
malice, by the untrue contriving eftsoon of another feigned lad 
called Perkin "Warbeck, born at Tournay, in Picardy, which at 
first into Ireland called himself the bastard son of King Richard ; 
after that the son of the said Duke of Clarence; and now the 
second son of our father, King Edward the lYth, whom God 
assoil; wherethrough she intendeth, by promising unto the 
Flemings and other of the archduke's obeissaunce, to whom she 
laboureth daily to take her way, and by her promise to certain 
aliens, captains of strange nations, to have duchies, counties, 
baronies, and other lands, within this our royaume, to induce them 
thereby to land here, to the destruction and disinheritance of the 
noblemen and other our subjects the inhabitants of the same, and 
finally to the subversion of this our royaume, in case she may 
attaine to her malicious purpose, that God defend. We therefore, 
and to the intent that we may be alway purveied and in readi- 
ness to resist her malice, write unto you at this time ; and will 
and desire you that, preparing on horseback, defensibly arrayed, 
four score persons, whereof we desire you to make as many spears, 
with their custrells,^ and demi-lances, wellhorsed as ye can furnish, 
and the remainder to be archers and bills, ye be thoroughly 
appointed and ready to come upon a day's warning for to do us 
service of war in this case. And ye shall have for every horse- 
man well and defensibly arrayed, that is to say, for a spear and 
his custrel twelvepence ; a demi-lance ninepence ; and an archer or 
bill, on horseback, eightpence by the day, from the time of your 
coming out unto the time of your return to your home again. 
And thus doing, ye shall have such thanks of us for your loving 
and true acquittal in that behalf as shall be to your weal and 
honour for time to come. We pray you herein ye will make such 
diligence as that ye be ready with your said number to come unto 
us upon any our sudden warning. 

Given under our signet at our Castle of Kenilworth, the 
twentieth day of July (1493). 

To our trusty and well-heloved Knight and 
Councillor, Sir Gilbert Talbot. 

* Squires of the body. 



10 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

VII. 

Cavendish in his ' Life of Wolsey,' prints this pitiful letter 
from the original in the Ashmolean Museum. It is dated from 
Asher (Esher), whither the Cardinal was ordered to retire after 
judgment had been pronounced against him for having trans- 
gressed the Statute of Praemunire. In his day of authority and 
glory Wolsey was the haughtiest and richest subject in England ; 
only a very few days sufficed to deprive him not only of all his 
former magnificence, but almost of the commonest domestic 
comfoi'ts. 

Cardinal Wolsey to Dr. Stephen Gardiner. 

Esher: 15^9. 

My owne goode Mastyr Secretary, — Aftyr my moste herty 
commendacions I pray you at the reverens of God to helpe, that 
expedicion be iisyd in my persiits, the delay wherof so reple- 
nyshyth my herte with hevynes, that I can take no reste ; not 
for any vayne fere, but onely for the miserable condycion, that I 
am presently yn, and lyclyhod to contynue yn the same, onles 
that you, in whom ys myn assuryd truste, do help & releve me 
therin; For fyrst, contynuyng here in this mowest & corupt ayer, 
beyng enteryd into the passyon of the dropsy. Cum prostatione 
appetitus et continuo insomnio. I cannot lyve. 

Wherfor of necessyte I must be removyd to some other dryer 
ayer and place, where I may have comodyte of physycyans. 
Secondly, havyng but Yorke, wych is now decayd by viii. C. li. 
by the yeere, I cannot tell how to lyve, & kepe the poore nombyr 
of folks wych I nowe have, my howsys ther be in decay, and of 
evry thyng mete for houssold onprovydyd and furnyshyd. 

I have non apparell for my howsys ther, nor money to bring 
me thether nor to lyve wyth tyl the propysse tyme of the yeere 
shall come to remove thether. Thes thyngs consyderyd, M'' 
Secretary, must nedys make me yn agony and hevynes, myn age 
therwith and sycknes consyderyd, alas M*" Secretary, ye with 
other my lordys shewyd me, that I shuld otherwyse be furnyshyd 
& seyn unto, ye knowe in your lernyng & consyens, whether 
I shuld forfet my spiritualties of Wynchester or no, Alas ! the 
qualytes of myn offencys consyderyd, with the gret punishment & 
losse of goodes that I have sustaynyd, owt to move petyfuU hertys; 
and the moste nobyl Kyng, to whom yf yt wold please yow of 
your cherytable goodnes to shewe the premyses aftyr your accus- 



1600] ENQLISn LETTERS. 11 

tomable wysdome & dexteryte, yt ys not to be dowbtyd, but his 
higlines wold bave consyderacyon and compassyon, aggmentyng 
my lyvyng, and appoyntyng such thyngs as shuld be convenient 
for my furniture, wych to do shalbe to the Kyng's high honor, 
meryte, & dyscharge of consyens, & to you gret prayse for the 
bryngyng of the same to passe for your olde brynger up and 
lovying frende. Thys kyndnes exibite from the Kyng's hyghnes 
shal prolong my lyff for some lytyl whyl, thow yt shall nat be 
long, by the meane whereof hys grace shal take profygtt & by my 
deth now. What ys yt to hys hyhnes to give some convenyent 
porcion owt of Wynchester, & Seynt Albons, hys grace takyng 
with my herty good wyl the resydew. Remember, good M^ 
Secretary, my poore degre, & what servys I have done, and how 
nowe approachyng to deth I must begyn the world ageyn. 1 
besech you therfore, movyd with pity and compassyon soker me 
in thys my calamyte, and to your power wych I knowe ys gret, 
releve me ; and I with all myn shal not onely ascrybe thys my 
relef unto you, but also praye to God for the increase of your 
honor, & as my poore shall increase, so I shal not fayle to requyte 
your kyndnes. 

Wrytten hastely at Asher, with the rude and shackyng hand of 
Your dayly bedysman 

And assuryd friend, 
T. Car^is Ebor. 

vin. 

TiOrd Campbell, in his * Lives of the ChanceUors,' lays par- 
ticular stress on this beautiful letter written by Sir Thomas 
More to his wife on receipt of the news that the greater part 
of his house at Chelsea (with the outhouses and granaries) had 
been destroyed by fire. The biographer is more attracted by 
the unusually simple style of the composition, and by the kind- 
liness of disposition and unaffected piety of this good and gifted 
martyr, than by all his other elaborate writings and speeches. 
A few weeks after this grievous domestic mishap, the most up- 
right of Henry VIII.'s councillors was sworn in Lord Chancel- 
lor of England. 

Sir Thomas More to his Wife. 
With the Court at Woodstock : Sept. 3, 1529. 
Mistress Alyce, — In my most harty will, I recomend me to 
you. And whereas I am enfourmed by my son Heron of the loss 



12 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

of our barnes, and our neighbours also, with all the corne that was 
therein, albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is gret pitie of so much 
good corne lost, yet sith it hath liked hym to send us such 
a chance, we must not only be content, but also be glad of his 
visitation. He sent us all that we have lost : and sith he hath by 
such a chance taken it away againe, his pleasure be fulfilled. Let 
us never grudge thereat, but take it in good worth, and hartely 
thank him, as well for adversitie, as for prosperitie. And par 
adventure we have more cause to thank him for our losse, than 
for our winning. For his wisedom better seeth what is good for 
us than we do ourselves. Therefore I pray you be of good cheere, 
and take all the how sold with you to church, and there thank 
God both for that he hath given us, and for tliat he hath left us, 
which if it please hym, he can increase when he will. And if it 
please him to leave us yet lesse, at hys pleasure be it. I praye 
you to make some good ensearche what my poor neighbours have 
loste, and bidde them take no thought therefore, and if I shold not 
leave myself a spone, there shall no poore neighbour of mine here 
no losse by any chance happened in my house. I pray you be 
with my children and household mery in God. And devise some- 
what with your friends, what way wer best to take, for provision 
to be made for corne for our household and for sede thys yere 
coming, if ye thinke it good that we keepe the gi'ound still in our 
handes. 

And whether ye think it good y* we so shall do or not, yet I 
think it were not best sodenlye thus to leave it all up, and to put 
away our folk of our farme, till we have somewhat advised us 
thereon. Howbeit if we have more no we than ye shall neede, and 
which can get the other maister's, ye may then discharge us of 
them. But I would not that any men wer sodenly sent away he 
wote nere wether. At my coming hither, I perceived none other, 
but that I shold tary still with the Kinges grace. But now I 
shall (I think), because of this chance, get leave this next weke to 
come home and se you ; and then shall we further devise together 
uppon all things, what order shall be best to take : and thus as 
hartely fare you well with all our children as you can wishe. 

At "Woodstok the thirde daye of September, by the hand of 
Your loving husband 

Thomas More, Knight. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 13 

IX. 

The following letter is historically famous as the subject of 
controversy between the admirers and detractors of Archbishop 
Cranmer. It has been appealed to by the former as an example 
of his fidelity to Aone Boleyn and bis courage in a grave emer- 
gency ; by the latter it is quoted as a proof of his submissiveness 
to the will of Henry VIII. 

Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterhury, to Henry VIII. 

Lambeth : May 3, 1536. 

Pleaseth your most -noble Grace to be advertised, that at your 
grace's commandment by M"" secretary's letters, written in your 
grace's name, I came to Lambeth yesterday, and do there remain 
to know your grace's farther pleasure. And forasmuch as, without 
your grace's commandment, I dare not, contrary to the contents 
of the said letters, presume to come unto your grace's presence, 
nevertheless, of my most bounden duty, 1 can do no less than most 
humbly to desire your grace, by your great wisdom, and by the 
assistance of God's help, somewhat to siippress the deep sorrow of 
your grace's heart, and to take all adversities of God's hand both 
patiently and thankfully. 

I cannot deny but your grace hath great causes, many ways, 
of lamentable heaviness ; and also that, in the wrongful estimation 
of the world, your grace's honour of every part is highly touched 
(whether the things that commonly be spoken of be true or not) 
that I remember not that ever Almighty God sent unto your grace 
any like occasion to try your grace's constancy throughout, whether 
your highness can be content to take of God's hand as well things 
displeasant as pleasant. 

And if he find in your most noble heart such an obedience unto 
his will, that your grace, without murmuration and overmuch 
heaviness, do accept all adversities, not less thanking him than 
when all things succeed after your grace's will and pleasure, nor 
less procuring his glory and honour ; then, I suppose your grace 
did never thing more acceptable unto him since your first govei-n- 
ance of this your realm. And, moreover, your grace shall give 
unto him occasion to multiply and increase his graces and benefits 
unto your highness, as he did unto his most faithful servant Job ; 
unto whom, after his great calamities and heaviness, for his obe- 
dient heart, and willing acceptation of God s scourge and rod, 
2* 



14 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

addidit ei Dominus cuncta duplicia. And if it be true that is 
openly reported of the queen's grace, if men had a light estima- 
tion of things, they should not esteem any part of your grace's 
honour to be touched thereby, but her honour only, to be clearly 
disparaged. And I am in such a perplexity, that my mind is 
clean amazed, for I never had better opinion in woman than I 
had in her ; which maketh me to think that she should not be 
culpable. And again, I think your highness would not have 
gone so far, except she had surely been culpable. Now I think 
that your grace best knoweth, that, next unto your grace, I was 
most bound unto her of all creatures living. Wherefore, I most 
humbly beseech your grace, to suffer me in that which both 
God's law, nature, and also her kindness bindeth me unto; that 
is, that I may, with your grace's favour, wish and pray for her, 
that she may declare herself inculpable and innocent. And if she 
be found capable, considering your grace's goodness towards her, 
and from what condition your grace of your only mere goodness 
took her, and set the crown upon her head, I repute him not your 
grace's faithful servant and subject, nor true unto the realm, that 
would not desire the offence without mercy to be punished, to 
the example of all other. And as I loved her not a little,' for the 
love which I judged her to bear towards God and his gospel; 
so, if she be proved culpable, there is not one that loveth God and 
his gospel that ever will favour her, but must hate her above all 
other ; and the more they favour the gospel, the more they will 
hate her ; for there never was creatare in our time that so much 
slandered the gospel. And God hath sent her this punishment, 
for that she feignedly hath professed this gospel in her mouth, and 
not in heart and deed. And though she have offended so, that she 
hath deserved never to be reconciled unto your grace's favour, yet 
Almighty God hath manifestly declared his goodness towards your 
grace, and never offended you. Bat your grace, I am sure, ac- 
knowledgeth that you have offended him. Wherefore I trust that 
your grace will bear no less entire favour unto the truth of the 
gospel than you did before : forasmuch as your grace's favour to 
the gospel was not led by affection unto her, but by zeal unto 
the truth. And thus I beseech Almighty God, whose gospel 
hath ordained your grace to be defended of, ever to preserve your 
grace from all evil, and to give you at the end the promise of his 
gospel. From Lambeth, the 3^ day of May. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. ' 15 



[Oraniner had written but not despatched this letter, when he 
was summoned to a conference by the Lord Chancellor and 
other peers, who stated to him the facts which, they said, could 
be proved against the queen. lie, therefore, in a postscript, 
added as follows : — ] 

After I had written this letter unto your grace, my lord chan- 
cellor, &c. sent for me to come unto the starchamber ; and there 
declared unto me such things as your grace's pleasure was they 
should make me privy unto. For the which. I am most bounden 
unto your grace. And what communication we had therein, 
I doubt not but they will make the true report thereof to your 
grace. I am exceedingly sorry that such faults can be proved by 
the queen as I heard of their relation. But I am, and ever shall 
be, your faithful subject. 

Your grace's 

Humble subject and chaplain, 
Thomas Cantuariensis. 



X. 

Not the least curious of the manusciipts in the Vatican 
Library at Rome are the original autographs of Henry VIII. 's 
love letters to Anne Boleyn. It is supposed they were stolen 
from this lady at the end of the year 1£28. They remained in 
the Vatican until the French appropriated them, with other 
treasures of art and literature, after the invasion of Italy at 
the close of last century. They were restored at the peace of 
1815. Halliwell, in his ^ Letters of the Kings of England,' 
attaches great importance to this letter as fixing the period of 
the commencement of the King's affection for Anne Boleyn. 
Henry VIII. complains of * having been above a whole year 
struck with the dart of love.' 

Henry VIII. to Anne Boleyn. 

[August, 1528.] 
On turning over in my mind the contents of your last letters, 
I have put myself into great agony, not knowing how to interpret 
them, whether to my disadvantage, as you show in some places, 
or to my advantage, as I understand them in some others, be- 
seeching you earnestly to let me know expressly your whole miad 



16 ENGLISH LETTERS. 1.1450' 

as to the love between us two. It is absolutely necessary for me 
to obtain this answer, having been for above a whole year stricken 
with the dart of love, and not yet sure whether I shall fail or find 
a place in your heart and affection, which last point has prevented 
me for some time past from calling you my mistress ; because, if 
you only love me with an ordinary love, that name is not suit- 
able for you, because it denotes a singular love, which is far from 
common. But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mis- 
tress and friend, and to give up yourself body and heart to me, 
who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant (if your 
rigour does not foibid me) I promise you that not only the name 
shall be given you, but also that I will take you for my only mis- 
tress, casting off all others besides you out of my thoughts and 
affections, and serve you only. I beseech you to give an entire 
answer to this my rude letter, that I may know on what and how 
far I may depend. And if it does not please you to answer me 
in writing, appoint some place where I may have it by word of 
mouth, and I will go thither with all my heart. 

No more, for fear of tiring you. 

Written by the hand of him who would willingly remain 

yours, 

H. R. 

XI. 

Henry VII I. to Anne Boleyn. 

[Probably the end of 1528.] 

The approach of the time for which I have so long waited re- 
joices me so much, that it seems almost to have come already. 
However, the entire accomplishment cannot be till the two persons 
meet, which meeting is more desired by me than any thing in this 
world; for what joy can be greater upon earth than to have the 
company of her who is dearest to me, knowing likewise that she 
does the same on her part, the thought of which gives me the 
greatest pleasure. 

Judge what an effect the presence of that person must have on 
me, whose absence has grieved my heart more than either words 
or writing can express, and which nothing can cure, but that 
begging you, my mistress, to tell your father from me, that I 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 17 

desire him to hasten the time appointed by two days, that lie may 
be at court before the old term, or, at farth est, on the day prefixed ; 
for otherwise I shall think he will not do the lover's turn, as he 
said he would, nor answer my expectation. 

No more at present for lack of time, hoping shortly that by 
word of mouth I shall tell you the rest of the sufierings endured 
by me from your absence. 

"Written by the hand of the secretary, who wishes himself at 
this moment privately with you, and who is, and always will be, 

Your loyal and most assured servant, 

H. no other (A. B.) seeks K. 



XII. 

Anne Boleyn addressed this naive letter to Wolsey concern- 
ing the dispensation for her marriage. It will he remembered that 
Anne was led to suppose that the delay of her marriage was 
caused by the Cardinal's wish for another alliance, whereas he 
was really employing all his influence to induce Pope Clement 
VII. to issue the decretal bull. The ' recompense for his pains ' 
turned out to be that Anne, as Queen Consort, changed her 
servile admiration of him into bitter enmity. Wolsey describes 
her as his ' night-crow that never slept, but studied and continu- 
ally imagined his utter destruction.' 

Anne Boleyn to Cardinal Wolsey. 

[1528.] 

My Lord, — In my most humblest wise that my poor heart can 
think, I do thank your grace for y^ kind letter, and for your rich 
and goodly present, the which I shall never be able to deserve 
without your help ; of the which I have hitherto had so great 
plenty, that all the days of my life I am most bound of all crea- 
tures, next the King's grace, to love and serve your grace ; of the 
which I beseech you never to doubt that ever I shall vary from 
this thought as long as any breath is in my body. And as touch- 
ing your grace's trouble with the sweat, I thank the Lord that them 
that I desired and prayed for are scaped, and that is the King and 
you ; not doubting but that God has preserved you both for great 
causes known only of his high wisdom. And as for the coming of 
the Legate, I desire that much, and if it be God's pleasure, I pray 
him to send tliis matter shortly to a good end, and then T trust, 



18 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

my lord, to recompense part of your great pains. In the which I 
must require you in the meantime to accept my good will, in the 
stead of the power, the which must proceed partly from you, as 
our Lord knoweth ; to whom I beseech to send you long life with 
continuance in honour. Written with the hand of her that is most 
bound to be 

Your humble and obedient servant, 

Anne Boleyn> 



XIII. 

In the last edition of Roger Ascham's works, prepared by 
Dr. Giles, it will be found that the letters occupy as much 
space as all his other writings. Of the 295 letters only a very 
few were originally written in English ; but these few, con- 
jointly with the English treatises are valuable as specimens of 
a language as it was spoken at a period which has left us too 
few examples. That the secretaryship Ascham held under Ed- 
ward VI. shoiild have been continued him under Queen Mary, 
in spite of his open profession of the reformed religion, and 
that he should have preserved the friendship of Bishop Gar- 
diner and Cardinal Pole, and have been the favourite tutor of 
Queen Elizabeth shows that he was, in his way, as astute and 
useful as the equally fortunate Lord Burleigh. The following 
letter refers to an ingenious device for securing an increase of 
pension from Queen Mary. 

Roger Ascham to Bishop Gardiner. 

[April, 1554.] 
In writing out my patent I have left a vacant place for your 
wisdom to value the sum ; wherein I trust to find further favour ; 
for I have both good cause to ask it, and better hope to obtain it, 
partly in consideration of my unrewarded pains and undischarged 
costs in teaching King Edward's person, partly for my three years* 
service in the Emperor's court, but chiefly of all when King Henry 
first gave it me at Greenwich, your lordship in the gallery there 
asking me what the king had given me, and knowing the truth, 
your lordship said it was too little, and most gently ofiered me to 
speak to the king for me. But then I most happily desired your 
lordship to reserve that goodness to another time, which lime God 
hath gTanted even to these days, when your lordship may now per- 
form by favour as much as then you wished by good will, being as 
easy to obtain the one as to ask the other. And I beseech your 



1600] ENGLISH LETTEUS. 19 

lordship see what good is offered me in writing the patent : the 
space which is left by chance doth seem to crave by good luck 
some words of length, as viginti or triginta, yea, with the help of 
a little dash quadraginta would serve best of all. But sure as for 
decern it is somewhat with the shortest : nevertheless I for my 
part shall be no less contented with the one than glad with the 
other, and for either of both more than bound to your lordship. 
And thus God prosper your lordship. 

Your lordship's most bounden to serve you, 

K ASKHAM. 

To the Rt Reverend Father in God, 
My Lord Bishop of Winchester his Grace, these. 



XIV. 

This beautiful letter of condolence at the death of his son, 
Sturm, is selected as an excellent example of Rooer Ascham's 
epistolary style ; particularly as all the other English letters are 
of very great length. It is, in its easy and intelligible flow of 
words, free from the ' spots of rust ' which Hallam discovers 
in the rough sentences and obsolete words of the prose of the 
sixteenth century. 

Roger Ascham to his wife Margaret. 

[November, 1568.] 

Mine own good Margaret, — The more I think upon your sweet 
babe, as I do many times both day and night, the greater cause I 
always find of giving thanks continually to God for his singular 
goodness bestowed at this time upon the child, yourself, and me, 
even because it hath rather pleased him to take the child to him- 
self into heaven, than to leave it here with us still on earth. 
When I mused on the matter as nature, flesh, and fatherly 
fantasy did carry me, I found nothing but sorrows and care, 
which very much did vex and trouble me, but at last forsaking 
these worldly thoughts, and referring me wholly to the will and 
order of God in the matter, I found such a change, such a cause of 
joy, such a plenty of God's grace towards the child, and of his 
goodness' towards you and me, as neither my heart can compre- 
hend, nor yet my tongue express the twentieth part thereof. 

Nevertheless, because God and good Avill hath so joined you 
and me together as we must not only be the one a comfort to the 



20 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

other in sorrow, but also partakers together in any joy, I could not 
but declare unto you wbat just cause I think "we both have of com- 
fort and gladness by that God hath so graciously dealt with us as 
he hath. My first step from care to comfort was this, I thought 
God had done his will with our child, and because God by his 
wisdom knoweth what is best, and by his goodness will do best, 
I was by and by fully persuaded the best that can be is done with 
our sweet child, but seeing God's wisdom is unsearchable with 
any man's heart, and his goodness unspeakable with any man's 
tongue, I will come down from such high thoughts, and talk more 
sensibly with you, and lay open before you such matter as may be 
both a full comfort of all our cares past, and also a just cause of 
rejoicing as long as we live. You well remember our continual 
desire and wish, our nightly prayer together, that God would 
vouchsafe to us to increase the number of this world ; we wished 
that nature should beautifully perform the work by us; we did 
talk how to bring up our child in learning and virtue ; we had 
care to provide for it, so as honest fortune should favour and 
follow it. And see, sweet wife, how mercifully God hath dealt 
with us in all points, for what wish could desire, what prayer 
could crave, what nature could perform, what virtue could de- 
serve, what fortune could afford, both we have received, and our 
child doth enjoy ah-eady. And because our desire (thanked be 
God) was always joined with honesty, and our prayers mingled 
with fear, and applied always to the world too, the will and 
pleasure of God hath given us more than we wished, and that 
which is better for us now than we could hope to think upon ; but 
you desire to hear and know how marry, even thus, we desii-ed to 
be made vessels to increase the world, and it hath pleased God to 
make us vessels to increase heaven, which is the greatest honour 
to man, the greatest joy to heaven, the gi-eatest spite to the devil, 
the greatest sorrow to hell, that any man can imagine. Secon- 
darily, when nature had performed what she would, grace stepped 
forth and took our child from nature, and gave it such gifts over 
and above the power of nature, as where it could not creep in 
earth by nature it was straitway well able to go to heaven by 
grace. It could not then speak by nature, and now it doth praise 
God by grace; it could not then comfort the sick and careful 
mother by nature, and now through prayer is able to help father 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 21 

and mother by grace ; and yet, thanked be nature, that hath done 
all she could do, and blessed be grace that hath done more and 
better than we would wish she should have done. Peradventure 
yet you do wish that nature had kept it from death a little longer, 
yea, but grace hath carried it where now no sickness can follow, 
nor any death hereafter meddle with it ; and instead of a short 
life with troubles on earth, it doth now live a life that never shal 
end with all manner of joy in heaven. 

And now, Margaret, go to, I pray you, and tell me as you 
-think, do you love your sweet babe so little, do you envy his happy 
state so much, yea, once to wish that nature should have rather 
followed your pleasure in keeping your child in this miserable 
world, than grace should have purchased such profit for your child 
in bringing him to such felicity in heaven 1 Thirdly, you may say 
nnto me, if the child had lived in this world, it might have come 
to such goodness by grace and virtue as might have turned to great 
comfort to us, to good ser\T.ce to our country, and served to have 
deserved as high a place in heaven as he doth now. To this, in 
short, I answer, ought we not in all things to submit to God's 
good will and pleasure, and thereafter to rule our alffections, which 
I doubt not but you will endeavour to do ? And therefore I will 
say no more, but with all comfort to you here, and a blessing here- 
after, which I doubt not but is prepared for you. 

Your dearly loving husband, 

EOGER ASKAM. 

To my dear wife, Mi-s. Margaret Askam, these. 



XV. 

The pages of Tudor history bristle with attainders and judi- 
cial murders, and it must be admitted that the victims in nearly 
every instance died hard, The writer of the foUowing pitiably 
abject appeal was, however, a subject meet for the executioners 
axe : and considering his great position and the importance of 
his misdeeds, his was the solitary instance of downright cowardice 
in the face of death. As the contriver of Protector Somerset's 
overthrow, as the most prominent figare in the worst phases of 
the Reformation, as the seductive counsellor of Edward VI , 
and as the opponent of Princess Mary, he was simply an 
ambitious and cunning intriguer ; but as a trifler all his life 
with religion, and in his last moments a recanter in search 
of pardon, he was a worthless hypocrite. 



22 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

John Dudley, Duhe of Northumberland, to the Earl of Arundell. 

The Tower : August 22, 1553. 
Hon^^® Lord, and in this my distress my especiall refuge, moso 
wofull was the newes I receyved this evenynge by M^ Lieutenant, 
that I must prepare myselfe against tomorrowe to receyve my 
deadly stroke. Alas, my good lord, is my cryme so heynous as 
noe redemcion but my blood can washe awaye the spottes thereof 1 
An old proverb ther is, and that most true, that a lyving dogge is 
better than a dead lyon. Oh ! that it would please her good grace 
to give me life, yea, the life of a dogge, if I might but lyve and 
kiss her feet, and spend both life and all in her hon^^® services, as 
I have the best part already under her worthie brother, and most 
glorious father. Oh ! that her mercy were such as she would con- 
syder how little proffitt my dead and dismembered body can bringe 
her ; but how great and glorious an honor it will be in all posteri- 
tyes when the report shall be that soe gracious and mightie a 
queene had graunted life to so miserable and penitent an object. 
Your hon^^® usage and promise to me since these my troubles have 
made me bold to challenge this kindnes at your handes.' Pardon 
me if I have done amiss therein, and spare not, I pray, your 
bended knees for me in this distresse. The God of heaven, it may 
be, will requite it one day on you or yours ; and if my life be 
lengthened by your mediation, and my good lord chauncellor's (to 
whom I have also sent my blurred letters), I will ever owe it to 
be spent at your hon^^® feet. Oh ! my good lord, remember how 
sweet is life, and how bitter the contrary. Spare not your speech 
and paines ; for God, I hope, hath not shut out all hopes of com- 
fort from me in that gracious, princely, and womanlike hart ; but 
that as the doleful newes of death hath wounded to death both 
my soule and bodye, soe the comfortable newes of life shall be as 
a new resurrection to my wofull hart. But if no remedy can be 
founde, eyther by imprisonment, confiscation, banishment, and the 
like, I can saye noe more, but God grant me pacyence to endure, 
and a hart to forgive the whole world. 

Once your fellowe and lovinge companion but now worthy of 
noe name but wretchednes and misery, 

J. D. 



1600J ENGLISH LETTERS. 23 



XVI. 

This is a happy contrast to the parental utterances of Lord 
Chesterfield given in another part of this Yoliime. 

Sir Henry Sidney to his Son Philip Sidney. 

[1566.] 
I have received two letters from you, one written in Latin, 
the other in French, which I take in good part, and will you to 
exercise that practice of learning often : for that will stand you in 
most stead, in that profession of life that you are born to live in. 
And, since this is my first letter that ever I did write to you, I 
will not, that it be all empty of some advices, which my natural 
care of you provoked me to wish you to follow, as documents to 
you in this your tender age. Let your first action be, the lifting 
up of yoiu' mind to Almighty God, by hearty prayer, and feel- 
ingly digest the words you speak in prayer, with continual medi- 
tation, and thinking of him to whom you pray, and of the matter 
for which you pray. And use this as an ordinary, and at an 
ordinary hour. Whereby the time itself will put you in remem- 
brance to do that which you are accustomed to do. In that time 
apply your study to such hours as your discreet master doth as- 
sign you, earnestly ; and the time (I know) he will so limit, as 
shall be both sufficient for your learning, and safe for your health. 
And mark the sense and the matter of that you read, as well as 
the words. So shall you both enrich your tongue with words, 
and your wit with matter; and judgment will grow as years 
groweth in you. Be humble and obedient to your master, for 
unless you frame yourself to obey others, yea, and feel in yourself 
what obedience is, you shall never be able to teach others how to 
obey you. Be courteous of gesture, and affable to all men, with 
diversity of reverence, according to the dignity of the person. 
There is nothing that winneth so much with so little cost. Use 
moderate diet, so as, after your meat, you may find your wit 
fresher, and not duller, and your body more lively, and not more 
heavy. Seldom drink wine, and yet sometime do, lest being 
enforced to drink upon the sudden, you should find yourself in- 
flamed. Use exercise of body, but such as is without peril of yoiu: 
joints or bones. It will increase your force^ and enlarge your 



24 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

breath. Delight to be cleanly, as well in all parts of your body, as 
in your garments. It shall make you grateful in each company, 
and otherwise loathsome. Give yourself to be merry, for you 
degenerate from your father, if you find not yourself most able in 
wit and body, to do any thing, when you be most merry ; but let 
your mirth be ever void of all scurrility, and biting words to any 
man, for a wound given by a word is oftentimes harder to be 
cured than that which is giA^en with the sword. Be you rather a 
hearer and bearer away of other men's talk, than a beginner or 
procure!' of speech, otherwise you shall be counted to delight to 
hear yourself speak. If you hear a wise sentence, or an apt phrase, 
commit it to your memory, with respect of the circumstance, when 
you shall speak it. Let never oath be heard to come out of your 
mouth, nor words of ribaldry ; detest it in others, so shall custom 
make to yourself a law against it in yourself. Be modest in each 
assembly, and rather be rebuked of light fellows, for maiden-like 
shamefacedness, than of your sad friends for pert boldness. Think 
upon every word that you will speak, before you utter it, and 
remember how nature hath rampired up (as it were) the tongue 
with teeth, lips, yea, and hair without the lips, and all betokening 
reins, or bridles, for the loose use of that member. Above all 
things tell no untruth, no, not in trifles. The custom of it is 
naughty, and let it not satisfy you, that, for a time, the hearers 
take ib for a truth ; for after it will be known as it is, to your 
shame ; for there cannot be a greater reproach to a gentleman than 
to be accounted a liar. Study and endeavour yourself to be vir- 
tuously occupied. So shall you make such an habit of well-doing 
in you, that you shall not know how to do evil, though you would. 
Bemember, my son, the noble blood you are descended of, by your 
mother's side ; and think that only by virtuous life and good action, 
you may be an ornament to that illustrious family ; and otherwise, 
thiougli vice and sloth, you shall be counted lahes generis, one of 
the greatest curses that can happen to man. Well (my little Philip) 
this is enough for me, and too much, I fear, for you. But if I 
shall find that this light meal of digestion nourish anything the 
weak stomach of your young capacity, I will, as I find the same 
grow stronger, feed it with tougher food. Your loving father, so 
long as you live in the fear of God. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 25 



xvn. 

In Lodge's * Illustrations of English History' are numerous 
reprints of tlie Howard and Talbot papers bearing on the 
Elizabetlian period. Those which relate to the captive Queen 
of Scotland exhibit Elizabeth's fretful anxiety lest her prisoner's 
noble custodian should fail in due vigilance. The partisans of 
Mary, Queen of Scots, may here gather what, in hev case, waa 
understood as ' honourable captivity.' 

Earl of Shrewsbury to Queen Elizaheili. 

Sheffield Castle : March 3, 1572. 
May it please your most excellent Majesty, — It appears by 
my Lord Huntingdon's letters to me, whereof I here send your 
Majesty a copy, that suspicion is of some new device for this 
Queen's liberty, which I can very easily believe, for I am (as 
* always before) persuaded her friends everywhere occupy their 
heads thereunto. I look for no less than they can do for her, and 
provide for her safety accordingly. I have her sure enough, and 
shall keep her forthcoming, at your Majesty's commandment, 
either quick or dead, whatsoever she, or any for her, invent to the 
contrary ; and, as I have no doubt at all of her stealing away 
from me, so if any forcible attempt be given for her, the gTeatest 
peril is sure to be her's. And if I be your Majesty's true faith- 
ful servant, as I trust your Majesty is fully persuaded, be your 
Majesty out of all doubt of any her escape, or delivery from 
me, by flight, force, or any other ways, without your Majesty's 
own express and known commandment to me ; and tliereupon I 
engage to your Majesty my life, honour, and all. God preserve 
your Majesty, with many happy years, long and prosperously to 
reign over us. 

At Sheffield Castle, the 2,'^ of March, 1572. 

Your Majesty's humble and faithful servant, 

G. Shrewsbury. 

XVHI. 

There is something grimly comic in a peer of the realm — 
head of all the Talbots — having his bill for ' watch and ward,' 
and proper nourishment of the Queen of Scots and her numerous 
suite (for he was bound to supply a goodly number of dishes 
per diem to the different tables), heavily taxed by the Lords of 
the Council. 



ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 



Earl of Shrewsbury to Lord Burghley. 

Buxton : August 9, 1580. 
My very good Lord, — I came hither to Buxton, with my 
charge, the 28*^ of July. She had a hard beginning of her jour- 
ney j for when she should have taken her horse, he started aside, 
and therewith she fell, and hurt her back, which she still complains 
of, noth withstanding she applies the bath once or twice a day. I 
do strictly observe her Majesty's commandment, written to me by 
your Lordship, in restraining all resort to this place ; neither does 
she see, nor is seen to any more than to her own people, and such 
as I appoint to attend. She has not come forth of the house since 
her coming, nor shall not before her parting. Most of her folks 
have been sick, since her coming hither, of the new disease ; her- 
self has jet escaped. My care to discharge the trust it has pleased 
her Majesty to repose in me is, and shall be, no less than it has 
been heretofore ; but, my Lord, I must lament my griefs to your 
Lordship, whose wisdom I know to be great, and can every way 
consider. I think myself very hardly dealt withal, that after 
twelve years' faithful services, it shall lie in any practising enemy's 
power to persuade her Majesty so much against me, as to think 
me unworthy of this small portion, the allowance for this Lady's 
diet, &c. It is double that money hath served me yearly which I 
am driven to spend by the occasion of this charge ; besides the loss 
of liberty, dangering of my life, and many other discomforts which 
no money could have hired me to ; but the desire I have to serve 
my sovereign makes peril and pain a pleasure to me. I will not 
trouble your Lordship particularly with my charges, because I 
have of late written them at more length. Good my Lord, as my 
special trust is in your Lordship, deal so with her Majesty for me 
as I am not oiBfered so great a disgrace as to abate any part of the 
allowance ; it touches me nearer than a much greater matter in 
value could do. My assured trust has been, and is, that her 
Majesty, of her gracious goodness, would reward me with more 
than all I have received for this charge, whereby it might be a 
testimony to the world of her good acceptance of my true and 
faithful services. I have presumed to write to her Majesty touching 
this allowance, by your Lordship's good means. I doubt not her 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 27 

Majesty will think it well bestowed of me, if it were more. So 
wisliing to your Lordship all honour and health, I end, with my 
wife's most hearty commendations. 

Your Lordship's most faithful friend, 

G. Shrewsbury. 

XIX. 

"When Henry the Fourth, of France, abjured Protestantism, 
his ambassador, Morlant, was ordered to break the matter to 
Queen Elizabeth and to endeavour to calm her feeUngs by offer- 
ing the poor plea of ' urgent motives of state.' It is said that 
after writing the following epistle the Queen sought to appease 
her wrath by reading Boethius's ' Consolations of Philosophy.' 

Queen Elizaheth to the King of France. 

Nov. 12, 1593. 

Ah, what grief ! ah, what regi'et ! ah, what pangs have seized 
my heart, at the news which Morlant has communicated ! My 
God ! is it possible that any worldly consideration could render 
you regardless of the divine displeasure % Can we reasonably ex- 
pect any good result can follow such an iniquity ? How could you 
imagine that He, whose hand has supported and upheld youi- cause 
so long, would fail you at your need ] It is a. perilous thing to do 
ill that good may come of it ! Nevertheless, I yet hope your better 
feelings may return, and, in the meantime, I promise to give you 
the first place in my prayers, that Esau's hands may not defile the 
blessing of Jacob. The friendship and fidelity you promise to me, 
I own I have dearly earned ; but of that I should never have re- 
pented, if you had not abandoned your father. I cannot now regard 
myself as your sister, for I always prefer that which is natural to 
that which is adopted, as God best knows, whom I beseech to 
guard and keep you in the right way, with better feelings. 

Yoiu" sister, if it be after the old fashion : with the new I will 
have notliing to do. 

E. E. 



XX. 

This note of condolence, disclosing a mood of tender sym- 
pathy very unusual with Queen Elizabeth, is nevertheless 
highly characteristic. Her habitual regal reserve is maintained 
with quiet dignity. 



28 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 



Queen Elizabeth to Lady Norris upon the Death of her Son. 

Althougli we have deferred long to represent unto you our 
grieved thoughts, because we liked full well to yield you the first 
Reflections of our Misfortunes, whom we have always sought to 
cherish and comfort ; yet knowing now what necessity must bring 
it to your ears, and nature consequently must move many passion- 
ate affections in your Heart, we have resolved no longer to smother, 
either our care for your sorrow, or the sympathy of our grief for 
his Death ; wherein if society in sorrowing work diminution, we 
do assure you by this true messenger of our Mind, that Nature can 
have stirred no more dolorous affections in you as a mother for a 
dear Son, than the gi-atefulness and memory of his Services past 
had wrought in us his Sovereign apprehension of the miss of so 
worthy a Servant. But now that Nature's common Work is done, 
and he that was born to die hath paid his Tribute, let that Christian 
Discretion stay the flux of your immoderate grieving which hath 
instructed you both by Example and Knowledge, that nothing of 
this kind hath happened but by God's Providence, and that these 
Lines from your loving and gracious Sovereign serve to assure you, 
that there shall ever appear the lively Characters of you and yours 
that are left, in our valuing rightly all their faithful and honest 
Endeavours. More we will not write of this subject, but have dis- 
patched this Gentleman to visit both your Lord, and condole with 
you in the true sense of your Love ; and to pray you, that the World 
may see, that what Time cureth in weak Minds, that Discretion and 
Moderation may help in you in this Accident, where there is so 
opportune occasion to demonstrate true Patience and true Modera- 
tion. 

XXI. 

In warning James VI., of Scotland, against his double- 
dealing conduct, Queen Elizabeth, in her usaal emphatic style, 
hints at her intention of ignoring the will of Henry VIII., and 
of respecting the rights of primogeniture by secretly nominating* 
the descendant of her Aunt Margaret to the reversion of the 
English crown. Although naturally fond of secrecy and dis- 
simulation the Queen could not publicly avow her determination 
in this matter without courting troublesome opposition from 
the partisans of the other claimants. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS, 29 

Queen Elizabeth to James YI. of Scotland. 

1585. 

Eight deare Brother, — Your gladsome acceptance of my oflS^ed 
amitie, togither with the desiar you seem to have ingraven in your 
mynde to make merites correspondant, makes me in ful opinion 
that some ennemis to our good wyl shal loose muche travel, ^vith 
making frustrat thar baiting stratagems, whiche I knowe to bo 
many, and by sondry meanes to be explored. I cannot halt with 
you so muche as to denye that I have seen suche evident shewes 
of your contrarious dealings, that if I mad not my rekening the 
bettar of the moneths, I might condemne you as unworthy of such 
as I mynd to shewe myselfe toward you, and therefor I am wel 
pleased to take any coulor to defend your honor, and hope that 
you wyl remember that who seaketh two striQges to one bowe, he 
may shute strong, but never strait ; and if you suppose that princes 
causes be vailed so couvertly that no intelligence may bewraye 
them, deceave not yourselfe ; we old foxes can find shiftes to save 
ourselves by others malice, and come by knowledge of greattest 
secreat, spetiallye if it touche our freholde. It becometh, therefor, 
all our rencq to deale sincerely, lest, if we use it not, whan we do 
it, we be hardly beleaved. I write not this, my deare brother, for 
dout but for remembrances. 

My ambassador writes so muche of youi* honorable traitment 
of him and of Alexandar, that I belive they be convertid Scotes. 
You obKge me for them ; for wiche I rendar you a milion of most 
intire thankes, as she that meaneth to desarve many a good thoght 
iu your brest throwe good desart. And for that your request is so 
honorable, retaining so muche reason, I wer out of [my] sences if 
I shuld not suspend of any hiresay til the answer of your owne 
action, wiche the actor ought best to knowe, and so assure yourselfe 
I meane and vowe to do ; with this request, that you wyl affom-d 
me the reciproque. And thus, with my many petitions to the 
Almighty for your long life and preservation, I ende these skribled 
Hues. 

Your verey assured lovinge sistar and cousin, 

Elizabeth R. 



50 ENGLISH LETTERS. [150- 



XXII. 

Queen Elizabeth liere ridicules a proposal made to her on the 
part of the Scotch Commissioners that Mary, Queen of Scots, 
should he allowed to leave her captivity and he placed in the 
keeping of some neutral prince, subject to a guarantee from her 
relations that she should for ever abstain from all interference 
in the affairs of England. The letter indicates with tolerable 
clearness Elizabeth's intention to sacrifice the life of her dangerous 
rival. 

Queen Elizabeth to James VI. of Scotland. 

[February, 1686-7.] 

Be not caried away, my deare brother, with the lewd perswa- 
tions of suche, as insteade of infowrming you of my to nideful and 
helpeless cause of defending the brethe that God hath given me, to 
be better spent than spilt by the bloudy invention of traitors hands, 
may perhaps make yOu belive, that ether the ojSense was not so 
great, or if that cannot serve them, for the over-manifest triall 
wiche in publick and by the greatest and most in this land hathe 
bine manifestly proved, yet they wyl make that her life may be 
saved and myne safe wiche wold God wer true ; for whan you 
make view of my long danger indured thes four — wel ny five — • 
moneths time to make a tast of, the greatest witz amongs my 
owne, and than of Erench, and last of you, wyl graunt with me, 
that if nide wer not mor than my malice she shuld not have her 
merite. 

And now for a good conclusion of my long-taried-for answer. 
Your commissionars telz me, that I may trust her in the hand of 
some indifferent prince, and have all her cousins and allies promis 
she wil no more seake my ruine. Deare brother and cousin, way 
in true and equal balance wither they lak not muche good ground 
whan suche stuf serves for ther bilding. Suppose you I am so 
mad to truste my life in anothers hand and send hit out of my 
owne % If the young master of Gray, for curring faueur with you, 
might fortune say hit, yet old master Mylvin l^ath yeres ynough 
to teache him more wis-dome than tel a prince of anyjugement 
suche a contrarious frivolous maimed reason. Let your coun- 
celors, for your honor, discharge ther duty so muche to you as to 
declaire the absurditie of such an offer ; and, for my part, I do 



1600] ■ ENGLISH LETTERS. 81 

assure myselfe to muche of your wisdome, as, thogh like a most 
naturall good sou you charged them to seake all meaues they could 
devis with wit or jugement to save her life, yet I can not, nor 
do not, allege any fault to you of thes persuations, for I take hit 
that you wil remember, that advis or desiars aught ever agree with 
the surtye of the party sent to and honor of the sendar, wiche 
whan bothe you weigh, I doute not but your wisdome wil excuse 
my nide, and waite my necessitie, and not accuse me ether of malice 
or of hate. 

And now to conclude. Make account, I pray you, of my firms 
frindeship love and care, of which you may make sure accownt, 
as one that never mindz to faile from my worde, nor swarve from 
our league, but wyl' increase, by all good meanes, any action that 
may make true shewe of my stable amitie ; from wiche, my deare 
brother, let no sinistar whispei ars, nor busy troblars of princis 
states, persuade to leave your surest, and stike to unstable staies. 
Suppose them to be but the ecchos to suche whos stipendaries the 
be, and wyl do more for ther gaine than your good. And so, God 
hold you ever in his blessed kiping, and make you see your tru 
friends. Excuse my not writing sonar, for paine in one of my 
yees was only the cause. 

Your most assured lovinge sistar and cousin, 

Elizabeth R. 

XXIII. 

It was thought in Spain, at least by the priests and courtiers 
who surrounded Philip II., that one battle at sea and one battle 
on land would bring England to her senses, and compel Queen 
, Elizabeth to aclfnowledge the supremacy of the Pope ; and not 
a little of the literature of Spain in the years 1587 and 1588 
pointed to the importance of capturing our Queen and killing 
Drake. The English Admiral was the chief offender. By his 
successful expedition in 1587, he had retarded the invasion by a 
whole year, having tamed the Spanish, and, as he said, * singed 
the King's beard.' He is writing to that most successful diplo- 
mat, Walsingham, at the time we were hotly pursuing the 
retreating Armada. 

Sir Francis Drake to Lord Walsingham. 

July 31, 1588. 
Most Honorable, — I am comaunded to send these prisoners 
ashore by my Lord Admerall, which had, ere this, byne long done, 



32 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

but that I thought ther being here myght have done something 
which is not thought meet now. 

Lett me beseche your Honor that they may be presented unto 
her Majestie, either by your honor, or my honorable good Lord, my 
Lord Chancellor, or both of you. The one, Don Pedro, is a man 
of great estymacyon with the King of Spayne, and thowght next 
in this armye to the Duke of Sedonya. If they shoulde be geven 
from me unto any other, it would be som gref to my friends. Yf her 
Majestie will have them, God defend but I shoulde thinck it happye. 

We have the armey of Spayne before us, and mynd with the 
Grace of God, to wressell a poull with him. 

Ther was never any thing pleased me better than the seeing 
the enemey flying with a Sotherly wynd to the Northwards. God 
grant you have a good eye to the Duke of Parma, for with the 
Grace of God, yf we live, I doubt it not, but ere it be long so to 
handell the matter with the Duke of Sedonya, as he shall wish 
hymselff at Saint Marie Port among his orynge trees. God gyve 
lis grace to depend upon him, so shall we not doubt victory ; for 
our cawse is good. 

Humbly taking my leave, this last of July, 1588. 

Your Honor's faythfully to be commanded ever, 

Fra: Drake. 



XXIV. 

Some 160 letters relative to the suppression of the monas- 
teries were edited in 1843 by INIr. Thomas Wright for the 
Camden Society, from the originals in the British Museum. 
They illustrate in very plain language the depravity that was 
rampant in the lesser monasteries, and the corruption that had 
wormed itself into many of the larger establishments ; and even 
if it he allowed that Henry VIII.'s policy of confiscation was 
based on selfish motives, and that his plea of religious reform 
was subordinate to his secular aims, the suppression of four- 
fifths of the monasteries was justified by the voluminous report 
of the Visitor-General, Thomas Cromwell, in what is deservedly 
called the ' Black Book.' Although the Act of 1539 did not 
actually dissolve the greater houses, their occupants were either 
persuaded or terrified into a voluntary surrender. The cases of 
stubborn and recalcitrant abbots were deat with by indict- 
ments for hiofh treason, 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 33 



John ap Rice to Thomas Cromwell, Visitor-General of 
Monasteries. 

Bury : Nov. 5, 1535. 

Please it your mastership, fforasmoche as I suppose ye shall 
have sute made unto you touching Burie er we retourne, I thought 
convenient to advertise you of our procedinges there, and also of 
the compertes, of the same. 

As for thabbot, we found nothing suspect as touching his 
ly ving, but it was detected that he laye moche forth in his granges, 
that he delited moche in playing at dice and cardes, and therin 
spent moche money, and in buyldiug for his pleasure. He did not 
preche openly. Also that he converted divers fermes into copie 
holdes, wherof poore men doth complayne. Also he semeth to be 
addict to the mayntenyng of suche supersticious ceremones as hath 
ben used heretofor. 

As touching the convent, we coulde geate litle or no reportes 
amonge theym, although we did use moche diligence in our exami- 
nacion, and therby, with some other argumentes gethered of their 
examinacions, I fermely beleve and suppose that they had con- 
federed and compacted before our commyng that they shulde dis- 
close nothing. 

And yet it is confessed and proved, that there was here suche 
frequence of women commyng and reassorting to this monastery 
as to no place more. Amongest the reliques we founde moche 
vanitie and superstition, as the coles that Sainte Laurence was 
tested withall, the paring of S. Edmundes naylles, S. Thomas of 
Canterbury penneknyff and his bootes, and divers skulles for the 
hedache ; peces of the holie crosse able to make a hole crosse of j 
other reliques for rayne and certain other superstitiouse usages, for 
avoyding of wedes growing in corne, with suche other. Here 
departe of theym that be under age upon an eight, and of theym 
that be above age upon a five, wolde departe yf they might, and 
they be ofthe best sorte in the house and of best lernyng and 
jugement. The hole nomber of the convent before we cam was 
Ix., saving one, besides iij that were at Oxforde. Of Elie I have 



34 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1450- 

written to your mastership by my felowe Kichard a Lee. And 
thus Almightie God have you in his tuicion. From Burie, vth 
.Novembre, 

Your servant moste bounden 
JoHNE AP Rice. 

XXV. 

This letter, iUustrative of the condition of some religious 
houses, was written by a monk of the abbey of Pershore. 

Richard Bcerley to Sir Thomas Cromwell^ Visitor-General of 
■ Monasteries. 

1536. 
Most reverent lord yn God, second person yn this rem of 
Engl on d, ynduyd with all grace and goodnes, y submytt my 
selfe unto your grace and goodnes, desyurying you myckely 
to be good and gracyus lord unto me synful and poor creatur, 
my lowly and myck scrybullyng unto jouv nobull grace at 
this tyme ys gruggyng yn my conchons that the relygyon 
wyche we do obser and keype ys no rull of Sentt Benett, nor yt no 
commandyment of God, nor of no Sentt, but lyyth and foulysse 
serymonys, mayd sum yn old tyme and sume yn our tyme, by 
lyyth and ondyscrytt faders, wych have done ther dutys and ful- 
fellyd ther owne serymonys, an lett the preceps an commandy- 
mentes of God go. And so have y do thys syx yere, wych doth 
now greve my conchons sore, that y have byn a dyssymblar so long 
tyme, the wych relygyon say sent Jamys, ys yn vayne and bryng- 
yng forth no good fruttes; bettur owtt then yn the relygyon, 
except yt were the tru relygyon of Ohryst. Also we do nothyng 
seyrch for the doctryn of Chryst, but all fowlows our owne 
sensyaly and pleser. And thys relygyon, as y supposse, ys all yn 
vayne glory, and nothyng worthy to be except nather before God 
nor man. Also, most gracyus lord, ther ys a secrett thyng yn my 
conchons wych dothe move me to goo out of the relygyon, an yf 
yt were never so perfett, wych no man may know but my gostly 
fader, the Avych I supposs yf a man mothe guge yn other yong 
persons as yn me selfe, for Chryst say, nolite judicare et nonjudi- 
calimini; therfore y wyl guge my nowne conchons fyrst, the 
wych fault he shall know of me heyrafter more largyorly, and 
many other fowll vycys don amonckst relygyus me[n], not 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 35 

relygyus men, as y thynk the owtt not to be calcl, but dyssym- 
blars with God. Now, most gracyus lord and most worthyst 
vycytar that ever cam amonckes us, helpe me owt of thys vayne 
relygyon, and macke me your servant, hande-mayd, and beydman, 
and save my sowlle, wych sholdbe lost yf ye helpe yt not, the 
wych you may save with on word speckyng, and mayck me wych 
am now nawtt to cum unto grace and goodnes. Now y wyll 
ynstrux your grace sum watt of relygyus men, and how the Kynges 
grace commandyment ys keyp yn puttyng forth of bockes the 
beyschatt of Rome userpt power. Monckes drynk an bowll after 
collacyon tell ten or xii. of the clock, and cum to mattens as 
dronck as myss, and sume at cardes, sume at dyyss, and at 
tabulles, sume cum to mattens begenynge at the mydes, and sume 
when yt ys allmost done, and wold not cum ther so only for 
boddly punnysment, nothyng for Godes sayck, wyth many other 
vycys the use, wych y have no leser now to express. Also abbettes, 
monckes, prest, dont lyttyl or nothyng to put owtt of bockes the 
beyshatt of Romes name, for y my seylfe do know yn dyvers 
bockes wher ys name and hys userpt powor upon us ys. No mor 
unto your nobul grace at thays tyme, but Jesu preserve you to 
pleser. Amen. 

Your commyssary commandyd me to wrytt my mynd unto 
your nobul grace, by my oathe I toyk of him yn our chaptur 
hows. 

Be me, your beydman. Rye. Beerley, now 

monck yn the monastery of Pershor. 



XXVI. 

The death of Lady Cecil, the wife of Secretary Robert Cecil, 
was the occasion of a letter of condolence from Ralegh to her 
husband — for the two statesmen were firm friends in the year 
1596. 

If the letter does not help to illustrate Mr. Hume's remark 
that Ralegh's prose was ' the best model of ouv ancient style,' 
it, at least, is thoroughly characteristic of the writer. His for- 
tunes were on the wane, and he was passing into a phase of 
disappointment and sorrow. His most recent biographer, Mr. 
Edwards, to whom we are indebted for a fresh store of corre- 
spondence, remarks of this particular letter : — * Perhaps few 
men of like mental calibre have taken so long a time to learn 



36 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1450- 

the lessons of bereayement or the uses of adversity. The task, 
however, was got "by heart at last. We have here Ralegh's 
crude notions about the theme before he had really learnt a 
line of it.' 



8%r Walter Ealegh to Secretary Sir Robert Cecil. 

Sherborne : Jan 24, 1596. 

Sir, — Because I know not how you dispose of yonrsealf, I for- 
beare to vissitt you ; preferringe your plesinge before myne own 
desire. I had rather be with you now then att any other tyme, if 
I could therby ether take of frome you the burden of your sorrows, 
or lay the greater part therof on myne owne hart. In the mean 
tyme, I would butt minde you of this, — that you should not over- 
shaddo your wisdome with passion, butt looke aright into things 
as the are. 

There is no man sorry for death it sealf, butt only for the tyme 
of death ; every one knowing that it is a bound never forfeted to 
God. If then wee know the same to be certayne and inevitable, 
wee ought withall to take the tyme of his arivall in as good part 
as the knowledge; and not to lament att the instant of every 
seeminge adversety, whiche, we ar asured, have bynn on ther way 
towards us from the beginninge. It apartayneth to every man of 
a wize and worthy spirritt to draw together into sufferance the 
unknown future to the known present ; lookinge no less with the 
eyes of the minde then thos of the boddy — the one beholdinge afar 
of, and the other att hand — that thos things of this worlde in 
which we live be not strange unto us, when the approach, as to 
febleness, which is moved with noveltes. Butt that, like true 
men, participating immortalletye, and know[ing] our destines to 
be of God, wee then make our estates and wishes, our fortunes and 
desires, all one. 

It is trew that you have lost a good and vertuous wife, and my 
sealf an honorable frinde and kynswoman. Butt ther was a tyme 
when shee was unknowne to you, for whom you then lamented 
not. Shee is now no more your's, nor of your acquayntance, butt 
immortall, and not needinge or knowing your love or sorrow. 
Therefore you shall but greve for that which now is as then it was, 
when not your's ; only bettered by the differance in this, that shee 
hath past the weresome journey of this darke worlde, and hath 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 37 

possession of her inheritance. Shee hath left behind her the frufce 
of her love, for whos sakes you ought to care for your sealf, that you 
leve them not without a gwyde, and not by grevinge to repine att 
His will that gave them you, or by sorrowing to dry up your own 
tymes that ought to establishe them. 

I beleve it that sorrows are dangerus companions, converting 
badd into yevill and yevill in worse, and do no other service 
then multeply harms. They ar the treasures of weak harts and of 
the foolishe. The minde that entertayneth them is as the yearth 
and dust wheron sorrows and adversetes of the world do, as the 
beasts of the field, tread, trample, and defile. The minde of man 
is that part of God which is in us, which, by how mich it is subject 
to passion, by so mich it is farther from Hyme that gave it us. 
Sorrows draw not the dead, to life, butt the livinge to death. And, 
if T weare my sealf to advize my sealf in the like, I would never 
forgett my patience till I saw all and the worst of yevills, and so 
greve for all att once ; least, lamenting for sume one, another might 
not remayne in the poure of Destiney of greater discumfort. 

Your's ever beyound the pour of words to utter 

AV. Ealegh. 



XXVII. 

Sir Walter Ralegh was the chief victim of the half-hearted 
Spanish policy of King James I, He had been condemned to 
death for secretly allying himself with Spanish interests, but 
the sentence was commuted to perpetual imprisonment. His 
execution, some fifteen years afterwards, was brought about by 
an almost unavoidable collision with Spanish troops during the 
ill-advised expedition to Guiana in search of his ^ El Dorado.' 
True, when this ambitious explorer, after thirteen years' impri- 
sonment, was released conditionally from the Tower, he was 
pledged not to molest the Spaniards: but, unfortunately, 
Spanish blood was shed, and not a single nugget of gold was 
brought home to compensate for his disobedience. 

^ir Walter Ralegh to King James I. 

The Tower : Sept. 24, 1618. 
If in my jorny outuard bound I had of my men murtherad at 
the Islands, and spared to tak revenge ; if I did discharge some 
Spanish barkes taken, without spoile ; if I for bare all partes of the 
3* 



38 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

Spanish Indies, wherin I might have taken twentye of their 
townes on the sea cost, and did only follow the enterprise which I 
undertooke for Guiana, — where without any direccion from me, a 
Spanish village was burnt, which was newly sett up within three 
miles of the mine, — by your Majesties favor I finde noe reason 
whie the Spanish Embassadore should complaine of me. If it 
were lawfuU for the Spanish to murther 26 Englishmen, tyenge 
them back to backe, and then to cutt theire throtes, when they 
had traded with them a whole moneth, and came to them on the 
land without so much as one sword amongst them all ; — and that 
it may not be lawfull for your Majesties subjects, beinge forced by 
them, to repell force by force, we may justly say, * miserable 
English ! ' 

If Parker and Mutton took Campeach and other places in the 
Honduraes, seated in the hart of the Spanish Indies ; burnt 
townes, killed the Spaniards, and had nothing sayed to them at 
their returne, — and that my selfe forbore to looke into the Indies, 
because I would not offend, I may as justly say, ' miserable Sir 
Walter Ealegh ! ' 

If I had spent my poore estate, lost my sonne, suffred, by sick- 
nes and otherwise, a world of miseries; if I had resisted with the 
manifest hazard of my life the rebells [robberies] and spoils which 
my companyes would have made ; if when I was poore I could 
have mad my selfe rich ; if when I had gotten my libertye, which 
all men and Nature it selfe doth so much prise, I voluntarilie lost 
it ; if when I was master of my life I rendred it againe ; if, 
[though] I might elsewhere have sould my shipp and goods, and 
put five or six thousand pounds in my purse, I have brought her 
into England ; I beseech your Majestie to beleeve, that all this I 
have done because it should [not] be sayed to your Majestie that 
your Majestie had given libertie and trust to a man whose ende 
was but the recovery of his libertie, and whoe had betrayed your 
Majesties trust. 

My mutiners tould me, that if I returned for England I should 
be undone ; but I beleeved more in youi- Majesty's goodnes then in 
their arguments. Sure I am, that I am the first who, being free 
and able to inrich my selfe, hath embraced povertie. And as sure 
I am that my example shall make me the last. But your Majes- 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 39 

tics wisdome and goodnes I have made my judges, whoe have 
ever bine, and 

Shall euer remain, 

Your Majesty's most humble vassall 

W. Ralegh. 

XXVIII, 

Lyly, though still a young man in 1582, was already famous 
as the author of ' Euphues,' the manual of stately morality 
among the courtiers of Queen Elizabeth. He had flourished 
under the protection of Lord Burleigh since he left Oxford in 
1574, and we do not know under what circumstances he incurred 
the displeasure of the High Treasurer. He was probably soon 
taken into favour again, for we find him about the Court until 
the end of the century. 

John Lyly to Lord Burleigh. 

July, 1582. 

It hath plesed my Lord vpon what colour I cannot tell, cer- 
taine I am vpon no cause, to be displesed with me, ye grief whereof 
is more then the losse can be. But seeing I am to line in ye 
world, I must also be judged by the world, for that an honest 
seruaunt must be such as Csesar wold haue his wif, not only free 
from synne, but from suspicion. And for that I wish nothing 
more then to commit all my waies to your wisdome and the 
deuises of others to your iudgment, I here yeld both my self and 
my soule, the one to be tried by your honnor, the other by the 
iustic of god ; and if I doubt not but my dealings being sifted, 
the world shall find white meale, where others thought to show 
cours branne. 

It may be manie things wilbe objected, but yf any thing can be 
proued I doubt, I know your L. will soone smell deuises from sim- 
plicity, trueth from trecherie, factions from just servis. And god 
is my witnes, before whome I speak, and before whome for my 
speache I shal aunswer, yat all my thoughtes concerning my L. haue 
byne ever reuerent, and almost relligious. How I haue dealt god 
knoweth and my Lady can conjecture, so faithfullie, as I am as 
vnspotted for dishonestie, as a suckhng from theft. This conscilis 
of myne maketh me presume to stand to all trialls, ether of 
accomptes, or counsel!, in the one I neuer vsed falshood nor in the 



40 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

other dissembling. My most humble suit therfore vnto your L. is 
yat my accusations be not smothered and I choaked in ye smoak, 
but that they maie be tried in ye fire, and I will stand to the heat. 
And my only comfort is, yat ye yat is wis shall judge trueth, 
whos naked nes shall manifest her noblenes. But I will not 
treble your honorable eares, with so meinie idle words only this 
upon my knees I ask, yat your L. will vousalf to talk with me, 
and in all things will I shew my self so honest, yat my disgrac 
shall bring to your L. as great meruell, as it hath done to me 
grief, and so thoroughly will I satisfie everie objection, yat your L. 
shall think me faithfull, though infortunat. That your honnor rest 
persuaded of myne honest mynd, and my Lady of my true servis, 
that all things may be tried to ye vttermost, is my desire, and the 
only reward I craue for my iust (iust I dare term it) servis. And 
thus in all humility submitting my caus to your wisdome and my 
consins to ye trieall. I commit your L. to the Almightie. 
Your L. most dutifullie to commaund 

John Lyly. 

XXIX. 

That ruling tyrant of the English Bar, Sir Edward Coke, 
was a chronic thorn in the side of Sir Francis Bacon. Jealous of 
the increasing political and literary fame of his adversary, 
Coke, both in word and action, exercised all his ingenuity to 
lower the credit of his accomplished countryman. His aifected 
depreciation of the writings of the author of * The Advance- 
ment of Learning,' betrayed a petty malignity of spirit which 
the philosopher did not deign to notice. Not so his studied 
insolence of behaviour, which brought out the following neat 
letter of expostulation. 

Sir Francis Bacon to Sir Edward Cohe. 

[Before June 1606.] 
Mr. Attorney, — I thought best once for all, to let you know in 
plainness what I find of you, and what you shall find of me. You 
take to yourself a liberty to disgrace and disable my law, my ex- 
perience, my discretion. What it pleaseth you, I pray, think of 
me : I am one that knows both mine own wants and other mens ; 
and it may be, perchance, that mine mend, when others stand at a 
stay. And surely I may not endure, in public place, to be 
wronged without repelling the same to my best advantage to right 
myself. You are great, and therefore have the more enviers, 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 41 

which would bs glad to have you paid at another's cost. Since, 
the time I missed the solicitor's place, the rather I think by your 
means, I cannot expect that you and I shall ever serve as attorney 
and solicitor together : but either to serve with another upon your 
remove, or to step into some other course ; sO as I am more free 
than ever I was from any occasion of unworthy conforming 
myself to you, more than general good manners, or your particular 
good usage shall provoke ; and if you had not been short-sighted 
in your own fortune, as I think you might have had more use of 
me. But that tide is passed. 

I write not this to shew my friends what a brave letter I have 
written to Mr. Attorney ; I have none of those humours ; but 
that I have written is to a good end, that is, to the more decent 
carriage of my master's service, and to our particular better under- 
standing one of another. This letter, if it shall be answered by 
you in deed, and not in word, I suppose it will not be worse for us 
both; else it is but a few lines lost, which for a much smaller 
matter I would have adventured. So this being to yourself, I for 
my part rest &c. 



XXX. 

This little gem, composed in honour of the foimder of the 
Bodleian Library, hes half-hidden in a ponderous volume 
entitled ^ Cabala,' consisting of some very important correspond- 
ence of the Elizabethan and early Stuart period. The letter is 
also published in some editions of Bacon's works. So o-raceful 
a recognition of services to literature from the man of all others 
most capable of appreciating them, must have been very gratify- 
ing to the courtly diplomatist, Sir Thomas Bodley, at a time 
when public benefactions were sparingly acknowledged. 

8ir Francis Bacon to Sir Thomas Bodley, upon sending him his 
hook on the ^Advancement of Learning.^ 

1607. 
Sir, — I think no man may more truly say with the Psalm, 
multum incola fuit anima mea. For I do confess, since I was of 
any understanding, my mind hath in effect, been absent from that 
I have done, and in absence errours are committed, which I do 
willingly acknowledge ; and amongst the rest, this great one that 
led the rest; that knowing my self by inward calling to be fitter 
to hold a Book, than to play a Part, I have led my Life in civil 



42 ENGLISH ETTERS. |]450- 

Causes ; for which I was not very fit by Nature, and more unfit 
by the pre-occupation of my Mind. Therefore calling my self 
home, I have now for a time enjoyed my self; where likewise I 
desire to make the World partaker ; my labours (if so I may term 
that which was the comfort of my other labours) I have dedicated 
to the King, desu-ous if there be any good in them, it may be as 
fat of a Sacrifice incensed to his Honour ; and the second Copy 
have sent unto you, not only in good afiection, but in a kind of 
Congruity, in regard of your Great and rare desert of learning. 
For Books are the Shrines where the Saint is, or is believed to be. 
And you having built an Ark to save Learning from Deluge, 
deserve in Propriety, any new Instrument or Engine, whereby 
Learning should be Improved or Advanced. 



XXXL 

Although the nation at large was proud of Bacon as orator, 
lawyer, statesman, and philosopher, and applauded his rise to 
the woolsack and to the dignity of Viscount St. Albans as 
warmly as they did his unrivalled attainments, yet so heinous 
was the sin of judicial bribery considered, that his conviction by 
the Parliament of malpractices in the High Court of Chancery 
was followed by a national cry for his punishment. 

The following letter was written before the formal impeach- 
ment was carried to the House of Peers, and while the charges 
of bribery and corruption were being collected. 

Lord Chancellor Bacon to King James I. 

March 25, 1621. 
May it please your most excellent Majesty, — Time hath been 
when I have brought unto you gemitum columhce from others, now 
I bring it from myself. I fly unto your Majesty with the wings of 
a dove, which once within these seven days I thought would have 
carried me a higher flight. When I enter into myself, I find not 
the materials of such a tempest as is come upon me : I have been, 
as your majesty knoweth best, never author of any immoderate 
counsel, but always desired to have things carried suavibus modis. 
I have been no avaricious oppressor of the people. I have been 
no haughty, or intolerable, or hateful man, in my conversation or 
carriage. I have inherited no hatred from my father, but am a 
good patriot born. Whence should this be 1 For these are the 
things that use to raise dislikes abroad. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 43 

For the house of Commons, I began my credit there, and now 
it must be the place of the sepulture thereof ; and yet this parlia- 
ment, upon the message touching religion, the old love revived, 
and they said, I was the same man still, only honesty was turned 
into honour. For the upper house, even within these days, before 
these troubles, they seemed as to take me into their arms, finding 
in me ingenuity, which they took to be the true straight line of 
nobleness, without any crooks or angles. 

And for the briberies and gifts wherewith I am charged, when 
the books of hearts shall be opened, I hope T shall not be found 
to have the troubled fountain of a corrupt heart, in a depraved 
habit of taking rewards to pervert justice ; howsoever I may be 
frail, and partake of the abuses of the times. 

And therefore I am resolved, when I come to my answer, not 
to trick up my innocency, as I writ to the lords, by cavillations 
or voidances ; but to speak to them the language that my heart 
speaketh to me, in excusing, extenuating, or ingenuously confessing ; 
praying to God to give me the grace to see the bottom of my faults, 
and that no hardness of heart do steal upon me, under shew of more 
neatness of conscience, than is cause. But not to trouble your 
majesty any longer, craving pardon for this long mourning letter; 
that which I thirst after, as the hart after the streams^ is, that I 
may know, by my matchless friend that presenteth to you this 
letter, your majesty's heart (which is an ahyssus of goodness, as I 
am an ahyssus of misery) towards me. I have been ever your 
man, and counted myself but an usufructuary of myself, the 
property being yours. And now making myself an oblation to do 
with me as may best conduce to the honour of your justice, the 
honour of your mercy, and the use of your service, resting as clay 
in your majesty's gracious hands. &c., &c. 



XXXII. 

The excellent counsel vouchsafed in this letter by James I. 
to his eldest son, supplemented as it was by the Royal instruc- 
tions contained in ' the printed hook ' (Basilicon Doron), was not 
addressed to a heedless hoy, but to a clever princeling whose 
activity of mind, firm sincerity, and ardent piety contrasted 
with the vanity and pedantry of his father. In losing Prince 
Henry at the early age of nineteen, the nation lost, in all 
appearance, a ruler capable of reviving the best features of 
Plantagenet government. 



44 ENGLISH LETTERS. ri450- 



James I. to his son Prince Henry, on Ms leaving Scotland to tahe 
possession of the English Crown. 

1603. 

My Son, — That I see you not before my parting, impute it to 
this great occasion, wherein time is so precious j but that shall by 
God's grace be recompensed by your coming to me shortly, and 
continual residence with me ever after. Let not this news make 
you proud, or insolent, for a King's son and heir was ye before, 
and no more are ye yet. The augmentation that is hereby like to 
fall unto you, is but in cares and heavy burthens. Be, therefore, 
merry, but not insolent ; keep a greatness, but sine fastu ; be 
resolute, but not wilful. Keep your kindness, but in honourable 
sort ; choose none to be your playfellows but them that are well 
born ; and above all things, never give good countenance to any 
but according as ye shall be informed that they are in estimation 
with me. Look upon all Englishmen that shall come to visit 
you as your loving subjects, not with that ceremony as towards 
strangers, and yet with such heartiness as at this time they deserve. 
This gentleman whom this bearer accompanies is worthy, and of 
good rank, and now my familiar servitor ; use him, therefore, in 
a more homely, loving sort nor other. I send you herewith my 
book lately printed ; study and profit in it as ye would deserve my 
blessing ; and as there can nothing happen unto you whereof ye 
will not find the general ground therein, if not the very par- 
ticular point touched, so must ye level every man's opinions or 
advices unto you as ye find them agree or discord with the rules 
there set down, allowing and following their advices that agree 
with the same, mistrusting and frowning upon them that advise 
you to the contrary. Be diligent and earnest in your studies, that 
at your meeting with me I may praise you for your progress in 
learning. Be obedient to your master, for your own weal, and to 
procure my thanks; for in reverencing him ye obey me, and 
honour yourself. Farewell, 

Your loving father, 

James E. 



leOO"! ENGLISH LETTERS. 45 



XXXIII. 

Accompanied "by that accomplished trifler, the Duke of 
Buckingham, Prince Charles of England, the spoilt child of an 
indulgent and affectionate father, had reached the end of what 
is called a romantic journey to Madrid in quest of a wife. The 
romancers had passed in disguise through France under the 
undignified names of Jack and Tom Smith, and at the time this 
letter was written they were endeavouring to negotiate among 
the wily Spaniards a marriage-treaty with the Infanta. The 
only excuse James I. had for seeking a wife for his ' dear Tbaby ' 
from a house hostile to the Protestant faith was that there was 
no Protestant princess of immediate royal extraction to he 
found ; at least, there was no king's daughter ; and rather than 
ahandon a project that would contribute so much to his desire 
for a political alliance with Spain — an alliance openly depre- 
cated by the English nation — he consented to demands which, 
rising as they did at every fresh stage of the contract, overtaxed 
the patience of Charles himself, who neutralised the pliant dis- 
position of his father by adopting the role of an injured suitor, 
and returning to London. Unfortunately, he went ' from the 
smoke to the smother,' and married Henrietta Maria of France. 

James I, to Prince CJiarles and the Duhe of Buchingham. 

Theobalds : May 9, 1623. 

Mj Sweet Boys, — If the Dutch post had not been robbed and 
sore beaten in Kent, three days ago, ye had sooner received the 
duplicate of the power I put in my sweet babies' hands, which I 
send you for the more security, seeing the expedition of your 
return depends upon it; but it rejoiceth my heart that your 
opinion anent the three conditions annexed to the dispensation 
agreeth fully with mine, as ye will find by one of my letters, dated 
Theobalds, which Gresley will deliver unto you. Carlisle came 
yesterday morning to Dos Castellanos, and a devoted servant to 
the Conde d'Olivares ; but my sweet Steenie Gossip, I heartily 
thank thee for thy kind, droll letter. I do herewith send thee a 
kind letter of thanks to that King for the elephant, as thou de- 
sired, wherein I likewise thank for him, for a letter of his which 
Carlisle delivered unto me, which is indeed the kindest and cour- 
tesest letter ever I received from any King. I have likewise 
received from Carlisle the list of the jewels which ye have abeady 
received, and which of them my baby means to present to his 
mistress ; I pray you, sweet baby, if ye think not fit to present her 



46 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

the collar of great ballest rubies and knots of pearls, bring it 
home again, and the like I say of the head-dressing of the gi'eat 
pear pearls, which ye have, and other three head-dressings which 
Frank Stewart is to deliver unto you, for they are not presents fit 
for subjects ; but if ye please, ye may present one of them to the 
queen of Spain. Carlisle thinks my baby will bestow a rich jewel 
upon the Conde D'Olivares; but, in my opinion, horses, dogs, 
hawks, and such like stuff to be sent him out of England by you 
both, mil be a far more noble, acceptable present to him. And 
now, my sweet Steenie gossip, that the poor fool, Kate, hath also 
sent thee her pearl chain, which, by accident, I saw in a box in 
Frank Stewart's ; I hope I need not conjure thee not to give any 
of her jewels away there, for thou knowest what necessary use she 
will have of them at your return here, besides that it is not lucky 
to give away that I have given her. Now, as for mails, the more 
strong mails for carriage that ye can provide me with, I will be 
the better secured in my journeys, and the better cheap. If ye 
can get the deer handsomely here, they shall be welcome. I hope 
the elephant, camels, and asses, are already by the way. 

And so God bless you both, and after a happy success there, 
send you speedy and comfortable home in the arms of your dear 
dad. James R. 

XXXIV. 

James I. to Prince Charles and the Duke of Buckingham, 

March 25, 1623. 

My Sweet Boys, — God bless you both, and reward you for the 
comfortable news I received from you yesterday (which was my 
coronation day), in place of tilting ; and God bless thee, my sweet 
gossip, for thy little letter, all full of comfort, I have written a 
letter to the Conde d' Olivares, as both of you desired me, as full 
of thanks and kindness as can be devised, and indeed he well 
deserves ; but in the end of your letter ye put in a cooling card, 
anent the nuncio's averseness to this business, and that thereby ye 
collect that the pope will likewise be averse ; but first ye must re- 
member that in Spain they never put doubt of the granting of the 
dispensation — that themselves did set down the spiritual conditions. 
These things may justly bo laid before them ; but I know not what 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 47 

ye mean by my acknowledging the pope's spiritual supremacy. I 
am sure ye would not have me renounce my religion for all the 
world ; but all that I can guess at your meaning is, that it may 
[be] ye have an allusion to a passage in my book against Bellar- 
mine, where I offer, if the pope would quit his godhead, and usurp- 
ing over Kings, to acknowledge him for the chief bishop, to which 
all appeals of churchmen ought to lie en dernier resort, the very 
words I send you here inclosed, and that is the farthest my con- 
science will permit me to go upon this point ; for I am not a 
rnonsieur that can shift his religion as easily as he can shift his 
shirt, when he cometh from tennis. 

I have no more to say in this ; but God bless you, my sweet 
Baby, and send him good fortune in his wooing to the comfort of 
his old father, who cannot be happy but in him. My ship is ready 
to make sail, and only stays for a fair wind. God send it her : 
but I have, for the honour of England, curtailed the train that 
goes by sea of a number of rascals. And, my sweet Steenie 
gossip, I must tell thee that Kate was a little sick within these 
four or five days of a headache, and the next morning, after a 
little casting, was well again. I hope it is a good sign that I 
shall shortly be a gossip over again, for I must be thy perpetual 
gossip ; but the poor fool Kate hath, by importunity, gotten leave ' 
of me to send thee both her ]ich chains ; and this is now the eighth 
etter I have written for my two boys, and six to Kate. God send 
me still more and more comfortable news of you both, till I may 
have a joyful, comfortable, and happy meeting with you ; and that 
my Baby may bring home a fair lady with him, as this is wi-itten 
upon our Lady-day, 25th of March, 1623. James E. 



XXXV. 

Robert Devereux, second Earl of Essex, the impetuous favourite 
of the Court of Queen Elizabeth, who ' never learned to disguise 
a feeling or conceal a thought,' reached the zenith of royal par- 
tiality before he attained his thirtieth year. 

The idol of the people and of the army, the Queen was as 
jealous of his popularity as she was fond of him personally. 
The two following letters are among a series written to the 
Queen during his outward journey in command of the expedi- 
tion against Spain, 1697. ' They indicate his position as the 
successor of the courtly Earl of Leicester. 



48 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 



The Earl of Essex to Queen EUzaheth, 

Sandwich : June 23, 1697. 

Your spirit I do invoke, my most dear and admired sovereign, 
to assist me, that I may express that humblest and most due 
thankfulness, and that high and true joy which upon the reading 
of your Majesty's letter my poor heart hath conceived. Upon 
your spirit, I say, I call, as only powerful over me, and by his 
infinite virtue only able to express infinite things. 

Or if I be too weak an instrument to be inspired with such a 
gift, or that words be not able to interpret for me, then to your 
royal dear heart I appeal, which, without my words, can fully and 
justly understand me. Heavens and earth shall witness for me. 
I will strive to be worthy of so high a grace and so blessed a 
happiness. Be pleased therefore, most dear Queen, to be ever 
thus gracious, if not for my merit yet for your own constancy. 
And so you shall bestow all those happinesses which in the end of 
your letter you are pleased to wish ; and then, if I may hear your 
Majesty is well and well-pleased nothing can be ill with your 
Majesty's humblest and most affectionate vassal, 

Essex. 

XXXVI. 

The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth, 

Portland Roads : July 6, 1597. 

Most dear and most excellent Sovereign, — I received your 
gi'acious letter full of princely care, of sweetness, and of power 
to enable your poor vassal to all duties and services that flesh and 
blood can perform. I received this dear letter, I say, as I was 
under sail, coming with your Majesty's fleet into the road of 
Portland. And because I think it will be welcome news to your 
Majesty that we are all with safety thus far advanced, I send the 
gentleman whom your Majesty dispatched to me forthwith back 
again. 

By whom, if I could express my soul's humble, infinite and 
perfect thankfulness for so high favours as your Majesty's five dear 
tokens, both the watch, the thorn and above all the angel ' which 

» Probably a poitrait. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 49 

you sent to guard me, for yonr Majesty's sweet letters indited by 
the spirit of spirits ; if, for this I say, I could express fit thank- 
fulness I would strain my wits to perform it. But till God in 
time make my poor endeavours and services my witnesses I must 
hope your Majesty will conceive, in your royal breast that which 
my weak words cannot signify. So shall you do justly as you 
ever used to do, and so shall you bless and make happy your 
Majesty's humble vassal, whose soul is poured out with most ear- 
nest, faithful and more than most affectionate wishes. 

Essex. 

XXXVIT. 

In spite of the failure of the expedition to Spain, and of many 
other omissions, Essex retained his place at Court. In the summer 
of 1598, in the course of a warm discussion on the proposed ap- 
pointment of Sir William Knollys to the Governor-Generalship 
of Ireland, the hot-headed Earl provoked the Queen hy his 
discourteous manner. She promptly boxed his ears before the 
Lord Treasurer and other councillors. That Essex considered 
he had received hard measure is clear from his first letter to 
Elizabeth after his proscription from the Court circle. 

The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth. 

[1598.] 

Madam, — When I think how I have preferred your beauty 
above all things, and received no pleasure in life but by the in- 
crease of your favour towards me, I wonder at myself what cause 
there could be to make me absent myself one day from you. But 
when I remember that your Majesty hath, by the intolerable 
wrong you have done both me and yourself not only broken all 
laws of affection, but done against the honour of your sex, I think 
all places better than that where I am, and all dangers well under- 
taken, so I might retire myself from the memory of my false, incon- 
stant and beguiling pleasures. I am sorry to write thus much 
for I cannot think your mind so dishonourable but that you punish 
yourself for it, how little soever you care for me. But I desire 
whatsoever falls out that your Majesty should be without excuse, 
you knowing yourself to be the cause, and all the world wondering 
at the effect. I was never proud till your Majesty sought to make 
me too base. And now since my destiny is no better, my despair 
shall be as my love was, without repentance. I will as a, subject 



50 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

and an humble servant owe my life, my fortune, and all that is in 
me ; but this place is not fit for me, for she which governs this 
world is weary of me, and I of the world. I must commend my 
faith to be judged by Him who judgeth all hearts since on earth I 
find no right. Wishing your Majesty all comforts and joys in the 
world, and no greater punishment for your wrongs to me than to 
know the faith of him you have lost, and the baseness of those you 
shall keep 

Your Majesty's most humble servant, 

Essex. 

XXXVIII. 

After the Earl's unauthorised return from Ireland, on his 
failure to suppress tlie rebellion of 1698, Elizal]eth kept him 
a prisoner in York House for several months. She had been 
heard to exclaim : ' By God's son, I am no Queen ; that man 
is above me,' and she resolved to break his proud spirit. The 
Earl remained in the custody of the Lord Keeper for three 
months after writing the following appeal. 

The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth. 

May 12, 1600. 
Before all letters written in this hand be banished or he that 
sends this enjoin himself eternal silence, be pleased, I humbly 
beseech your Majesty, to read over these humble lines. At sundry 
times, and by sundry messengers, I received these words as your 
Majesty's own, that you meant to correct and not to ruin ; since 
which time when I languished in four months' sickness, forfeited 
almost all that I was enabled to engage, felt the very pangs of 
death upon me, and saw that poor reputation, whatsoever it was 
that I enjoyed hitherto, not suffered to die with me, but buried 
and I alive, I yet kissed your Majesty's fair correcting hand, and 
was confident in your royal word ; for I said to myself, between 
my ruin and my sovereign's favour there is no mean, and if she 
bestow favour again, she gives it with all things that in this world 
I either need or desire. But now the length of my troubles, and 
the continuance, or rather increase, of your Majesty's indignation, 
have made all men so afraid of me, as my own poor state is not 
oidy ruined, but my kind friends and faithful servants are like to 
die in prison because I cannot help myself with mine own. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 51 

Now, I do not only feel the weight of your Majesty's indigna- 
tion, and am subject to their malicious insinuations that fii'st 
envied me for my happiness in your favour, and now hate me out 
of custom ; but as if I were thrown into a comer like a dead 
carcase, I am gnawed on and torn by the vilest and basest crea- 
tures upon earth. The prating tavern haunter speaks of me what 
he lists ; the frantic libeller writes of me what he lists ; already 
they print me and make me speak to the world, and shortly they 
will play me in what forms they list upon the stage. The least of 
these is a thousand times worse than death. But this is not the 
worst of my destiny, for your Majesty that hath mercy for all the 
world but me, that hath protected from scorn and infamy all to 
whom you ever avowed favour but Essex, and never repented you 
of any gracious assurance you had given till now ; your Majesty, 
I say, hath now, in this eighth month of my close imprisonment, 
as if you thought mine infirmities, beggary and infamy too little 
punishment, rejected my letters and refused to hear of me, which 
to traitors you never did. What therefore remaineth for me? 
only this, to beseech your Majesty, on the knees of my heart, to 
conclude my punishment, my misery and my life all together, 
that I may go to my Saviour, who hath paid himself a ransom for 
me, and whom, methinks, I shall hear calling me out of this un- 
kind world in which I have lived too long, and ever thought my- 
self too happy. 

From your Majesty's humblest vassal, 

Essex. 



XXXIX. 

The full extent of the EEtrFs degradation will be gathered 
by contrasting the last humble appeal with one of his earliest 
and extravagantly familiar letters written when he was under 
twenty-five years and the Queen over sixty years. 

The Earl of Essex to Queen Elizabeth. 

[1590] 

Madam, — The delights of this place cannot make me unmindful 
of one in whose sweet company I have joyed as much as the hap- 
piest man doth in his highest contentment ; and if my horse could 
run as fast as my thoughts do fly, I would as often make mine 



52 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

eyes rich in beholding the treasure of my love, as my desires do 
triumph when I seem to myself in a strong imagination to con- 
quer your resisting will. Noble and dear lady, tho' I be absent, 
let me in your favour be second unto none ; and when I am at 
home, if I have no right to dwell chief in so excellent a place, yet 
I will usurp upon all the world. And so making myself as hum- 
ble to do you service, as in my love I am ambitious I wish your 
Majesty all your happy desires. Croydon, this Tuesday, going to 
be mad and make my horse tame. Of all the men the most de- 
voted to your service, 

Essex. 



XL. 

In the early part of 1638 Milton came over from Horton, 
and was presented by John Hales to the famous Provost of 
Eton, Sir Henry Wotton, then in the last year of his life. The 
courtly old gentleman was delighted with the young poet's 
grace and wit, and most of all with his enthusiastic desire to 
visit Italy. On April 6 Milton had sent him a copy of ' Comus,' 
with a letter announcing his immediate departure for the Con- 
tinent, to which the Provost replies after the lapse of a week. 
A few days later Milton started upon his memorable Italian 
journey, and before he returned Wotton had sunk into the 
debility of mind that preceded his death in December 1639. In 
reading the latter part of this letter, it is impossible not to re- 
call the diplomatist's own witty definition of an ambassador, 
' an honest gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his 
country.' 

Sir Henry Wotton to John Milton. 

From the College : this 18 of April, 1638. 
Sir, — It was a special favour, when you lately bestowed upon 
me here the first taste of your acquaintance, though no longer than 
to make me know that I wanted more time to value it, and to en- 
joy it rightly; and in truth, if I could then have imagined your 
further stay in these parts, which I understood afterwards by Mr. 
H., I would have been bold, in our vulgar phrase, to mend my 
draught (for you left me with an extreme thirst) and to have begged 
your conversation again jointly with your said learned fiiend, at a 
poor meal or two, that we might have lauded together some good 
authors of the ancient time, among which I observed you to have 
been familiar. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 53 

Since your going, you have charged me with new obligations, 
both for a very kind letter from you dated the sixth of this month, 
and for a dainty piece of entertainment which came therewith, 
wherein I should much commend the tragical part, if the lyrical 
did not ravish me with a certain Doric delicacy in your songs and 
odes, wherein I must plainly confess to have seen yet nothing 
parallel in our language : ipsa mollities. But I must not omit to 
tell you, that I now only owe you thanks for intimating unto me 
(how modestly soever) the true artificer. For the work itself I had 
viewed some good while before, with singular delight, having re- 
ceived it from our common friend Mr. R. in the very close of 
the late E.'s poems, printed at Oxford; whereunto it is added 
(as I now suppose) that the accessory may help out the principal, 
according to the art of stationers, and leave the reader con la 
hocca dolce. 

Now Sir, concerning your travels, wherein I may challenge a 
little more privilege of discourse with you ; I suppose you will 
not blanch Paris in your way ; therefore I have been bold to 
trouble you with a few lines to Mr. M. B., AvhDm you shall easily 
find attending the young Lord S. as his governor, and you may 
surely receive from him good directions for shaping of your 
farther journey into Italy, where he did reside by my choice some 
time for the King after mine own recess from Yenice. 

I should think that your best line will be through the whole 
length of France to Marseilles, and thence by sea to Genoa, whence 
the passage into Tuscany is as diurnal as a Gravesend barge. I 
hasten, as you do, to Florence, or Siena, the rather to tell you a 
short story from the interest you have given me in your safety. 

At Siena I was tabled in the house of one Alberto Scipione, an 
old Boman courtier in dangerous times, having been steward to 
the Duca de Pagliano, who with all his family were strangled, 
save this only man, that escaped by foresight of the tempest. 
With him I had often much chat of those afiairs, into which he 
took pleasure to look back from his native harbour, and at my 
departure toward Rome (which had been the centre of his ex- 
perience) I had won confidence enough to beg his advice how I 
might carry myself securely there, without offence of others, or 
of mine own conscience. Signor arrigo mio, says he, pensieri 
stretti, e il viso sciolto, will go safely over the whole world. Of 
4 



54 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

which Delphian oracle, for so I have found it, your judgment 
doth need no commentary, and therefore, Sir, I will commit you 
vv^ith it to the best of all securities, God's dear love, remaining 
your friend, as much at command as any of longer date, 

Henry Wotton. 

P.S. Sir, — I have expressly sent this my footboy to prevent 
your departure without some acknowledgment from me of the 
receipt of your obliging letter, having myself through some busi- 
ness, I know not how, neglected the ordinary conveyance. In any 
part where I shall understand you fixed, I shall be glad and dili- 
gent to entertain you with home novelties, even for some fomenta- 
tion of our friendship, too soon interrupted in the cradle. 



The archives at Zurich contain the original correspondence 
between the chief English and Swiss Reformers. A great 
many friends of the Reformation settled in this canton and its 
capital on the accession of Queen Mary ; and after their return 
to England, in 1558, they corresponded closely with the 
friends by whom they had been so hospitably received. Under 
the title of 'Zurich Letters,' the Parker Society issued two 
volumes containing most interesting letters treating of matters 
ecclesiastical during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. This letter 
]'efers to the refusal of all the English bishops, except Kitchin, 
of Llandaff, to subscribe to the Act of Supremacy of 1569, 
which, with the Act of Uniformity, virtually revived the eccle- 
siastical supremacy of the Crown. 

Dr. Jewel, Bishop of Salisbury, to Peter Martyr. 

London : Aug. 1, 1659. 
1 have hitherto, my father, written to you less frequently 
because many engagements, both of a public and private nature, 
have prevented my correspondence. I now write, not because I 
have more leisure than heretofore, but because I shall have much 
less in future than I have at present. For I have now one foot on 
the ground, and the other almost on my horse's back. I am on the 
point of setting out upon a long and troublesome commission for 
the establishment of religion, through Reading, Abingdon, Glou- 
cester, Bristol, Bath, Wells, Exeter, Cornwall, Dorset, and Salis- 
bury. The extent of my journey will be about seven hundred 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 55 

miles, so that I imagine we shall hardly be able to return in less 
than four months. Wherefore, lest you should in the mean time 
suppose me dead, notwithstanding I wrote to you twelve days 
since upon our common affairs, I think it not unmeet to send you 
this short greeting at the very moment of my setting out. Our 
affairs are now in a favourable condition. The queen is exceed- 
ingly well disposed ; and the people everywhere thii-sting after re- 
ligion. The bishops, rather than abandon the pope, whom they 
have so often abjured before, are willing to submit to every thing. 
Not, however, that they do so for the sake of religion, of which 
they have none ; but for the sake of consistency, which the misera- 
ble knaves now choose to call their conscience. 

Now that religion is everywhere changed, the mass-priests ab- 
sent themselves altogether from public worship, as if it were the 
greatest impiety to have any thing in common with the people of 
God. But the fury of these wretches is so great that nothing can 
exceed it. They are altogether full of hopes and anticipations, (for, 
as you know, they are a most anticipative race, and mightily ad- 
dicted to futuritions,) that these things cannot last long. But, 
whatever may happen in future, we render thanks to Almighty 
God that our s.ffairs are as they are. 

Every thing is in a ferment in Scotland. Knox, surrounded 
by a thousand followers, is holding assemblies throughout the 
whole kingdom. The old queen (dowager) has been compelled to 
shut herself up in garrison. The nobility with united hearts 
and hands are restoring religion throughout the country, in spite 
of all opposition. All the monasteries are every where levelled 
with the ground : the theatrical dresses, the sacrilegious chalices, 
the idols, the altars, are consigned to the flames ; not a vestige of 
the ancient superstition and idolatry is left. "What do you ask 
for ? You have often heard of drinking like a Scythian ; but this 
is churching it like a Scythian. The King of France that now is, 
styles himself King of Scotland, and in case of anything happening 
to our queen, (which God forefend !) heir of England. You must 
not be surprised if our people are indignant at this ; and how the 
matter will at length turn out, God only can determine. A com- 
mon enemy perhaps, as is sometimes the case, may be the occasion 
of reconciling with us our neighbour Scotland ; in which event, 
although the [queen's] marriage should also take place, — but I will 



5G ENGLISH LETTERS, [1450- 

not prognosticate. Master Heton salutes you, and that not less 
affectionately than if you were his father. Some of us are ap- 
pointed to bishopricks ; Cox to Ely, Scory to Hereford, Allen to 
Rochester, Grindal to London, Barton to Chichester, and I, the 
least of the apostles, to Salisbury. But this burden I have posi- 
tively determined to shake off. In the mean time there is a dismal 
solitude in our Universities. The young men are flying about in 
all directions, rather than come to an agreement in matters of 
religion. 

But my companions are waiting for me, and calling to me to 
set off. Farewell, therefore, my father, and my pride. Salute 
that reverend man, and on so many accounts dearly beloved in 
Christ, Master BuUinger, to whom also, if I had time, I would 
send a separate letter. Salute masters Gaulter, Simler, Lavater, 
Haller, Gesner, Frisius, Herman. I have five golden pistoles 
from Master Bartholomew Compagni, for the venerable old man 
Master Bernardine, with a letter to him from the same. I would 
write to him concerning the whole business, were I not prevented 
by want of time. I pray you, however, to let him know that, ex- 
cept [the payment of] this money, nothing else is settled. Court 
affau's, as far as I can see, are so difficult of management, that I 
know not whether any thing can be made of it. The queen is now 
a long way off in Kent, so that nothing can be done. 

Farewell, my father, farewell. May you be as happy as I can 
wish you ! Salute, in my name, your Julius and Anna, and your 
little son [Martyrillus]. 

Your every way most attached 

John Jewell. 

XLII. 

This next extract from the 'Zurich Letters' is dated a year 
or two after that the Puritans had become a powerfully organised 
sect under the leadership of Thomas Cartwright. They are no 
longer merely resisting the laws because the outward forms of 
public worship savour too much of Roman Catholicism ; they 
have changed front and are themselves attacking tlie episcopal 
form of church government. The unwise persecution of this reli- 
gious body throughout the forty years of Queen Elizabeth's re:gn 
only served to strengthen their ranks, and in this respect the 
Queen's church rule was a failure. Archbishop Parker neglected 
to enforce the restraining statutes with sullicieut stringency 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 67 

at Jirst ; his successor, Grindal, rather syropathised ^vith the 
Puritans than otherwise ; and this left Archbishop Whitgift — 
a firm clerical statesman after Elizabeth's heart — comparati^ ely 
powerless, even with the High Commission Court in the back- 
ground. 

I)}'. Cox, Bishop of Ell/., to Eodolph Gualter. 

Ely: Feb. 3,1573. 

I retui'n you my best thanks, my dear brother in Christ, for 
haAdng sent me a most courteous letter, which I received in De- 
cember, and in which you clearly manifest your anxiety for the 
church of Christ, though at so great a distance from you. This, 
indeed, ought to be the chief solicitude of every pastor in the 
church, but of those more especially who in the endowments of 
learning and judgment, and piety are superior to tlie rest. When 
Dr. WTiitgift, the most vehement enemy of the schismatics, and 
the chief instrument against them in our church, had perceived 
these unruly men to have burst by their reckless attacks the 
barriers of law and of religion, which had been so well and so 
peacefully established ; and that they had only distributed infamous 
pamphlets which had been privately committed to the press ; and 
also that from your letter to our friend Parkhr.rst, which they had 
communicated to many persons, they had already obtained a handle 
for confirming their errors, he thought that the publication of your 
letter to me would tend very much to the defence of the truth. 
Your first letter wa.s extorted from you by those who falsely ac- 
cused us ; but the simple truth brought the second to Hght. And 
there is no reason why you should be distm-bed about the publica- 
tion of what has procured credit and reputation to yourself, inas- 
much as it espouses the cause of truth, of which no one ought to 
be ashamed. 

I acquainted you with some of the errors of our men in the 
questions I proposed to you, and you have gratified me most ex- 
ceedingly by the candid and sincere declaration of your sentiments ; 
for the opinions of Masters Bullinger and Gualter are of no little 
weight in our church. But these disputants of ours are so shuf- 
fling, and so tenacious of their own opinion, that they will give 
way to no one who opposes their judgment ; and they are striving 
to draw all your writings over to their side by a perverted inter- 
pretation of them. To give you an instance of their candour, 



58 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 

they are zealously endeavouring to overthrow the entire order of 
our Anglican church. Night and day do they importune both the 
people and the nobility, and stir them up to abhorrence of those 
persons who, on the abolition of pppery, are faithfully discharging 
tlie duties of the ministry, and they busy themselves in everywhere 
weakening and diminishing their credit. And that they may effect 
this with greater ease and plausibility, they bawl out to those har- 
pies who are greedily hankering after plunder and spoil, that the 
property and revenues of the cathedral churches ought to be 
diverted to I know not what other uses. Nor will they allow 
bishops to take any other precedence than as individual pastors in 
their respective parishes, whose highest authority they wish to be 
that of governing, together with their presbytery, the rest of the 
parishioners. And in this way they set up and establish the 
equality they speak of. Besides this, they will not acknowledge 
any government in the church. They propose, moreover, that the 
estates and houses of the bishops should be appropriated to pious 
uses ; but, more blind than moles, they do not perceive that they 
will soon be swallowed up by the devouring wolves. 

There are in this country twenty-three bishopricks, the endow- 
ments of some of which are little enough ; others have moderate 
ones, and others more abundant. But all are within the bounds 
of moderation. None of the bishops interfere in any matters but 
the ministery of the word and sacraments, except when the law 
requires them, or at the command of the sovereign. Nor in these 
things, as far as I am aware, do they deal harshly with the 
brethren, but temper what is severe with sui'prising lenity. Our 
opponents, however, would complain most grievously, were our 
jurisdiction transferred to the laity, as they call them : they would 
soon find out that the gold had been exchanged for brass. But 
how true are the insinuations which they have whispered against 
us in the ears of the godly, time will shew ; and ' our rejoicing is 
the testimony of our conscience.' I wish they would acquiesce in 
your wholesome and prudent counsel, namely, to put up with what 
cannot be amended without great danger. At first they attacked 
only things of little consequence ; but now they turn every thing, 
iDoth great and small, up and down, and throw all things into con- 
fusion ; and would bring the church into very great danger, ^v^ere 
not our most pious queen most faithful to her principles, and did 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 59 

she not dread and restrain the vanity and inconsistency of these 
frivolous men. But because we do not decline to execute the 
orders of the government, whenever it commands us to interfere, 
in bridKng in these our tumultuous brethren, on this ground an 
undue severity, not to say cruelty, is most unjustly laid to our 
charge. But we have this one comfort, that the religion of Christ 
is ever accompanied by the cross, which he will, by his Holy Spirit, 
enable us willingly to bear. 

Your son, a youth of excellent promise, has only this fault, that 
he rarely comes to see me. But I am now obliged to excuse him, 
because he is residing in our other university — I mean Oxford, 
which is a great way off. But I hope that he will take leave of me 
before he . goes away. You have acted prudently in so carefully 
providing for your son, that like Ulysses, he may see the customs 
and cities of many people, and like the industrious bee, extract 
piety from all the churches. May God bring him back to be a 
blessing to his father ! May Christ Jesus very long preserve you 
to us in safety ! From the Isle of Ely in England, Feb. 3, 1573, 
according to the English computation. 

Your most loving friend in Christ, Eichard Cox, pastor and 
servant of the church at Ely. 

Richard Ely. 



XLHI. 

Dr. DoBne was one of the most conspicuous of the literary 
characters of the later Elizabethan and early Stuart periods. 
He was a many-sided man. His youth was spent as a hard- 
reading recluse ; his early married life, after he had become 
private secretary to a nobleman, was full of vicissitudes, and he 
linished by being Ohaplain-in-Ordinary to James I, In this 
last capacity he has been described as preaching ' as an angel from 
a cloud, but not in a cloud.' Few readers of his poetry will, 
however, be disposed to accord like praise to the prurient wit, 
the extravagant metaphor, and the conceited oddity of his 
verses. His other function was satire, of which, with Joseph 
Hall and John Marston, the dramatist, he was the founder. Dr. 
Donne was highly appreciated in his own day, but he is now 
chiefly known as the subject of one of Isaac Walton's incom- 
parable biographies, and as the writer of satires versified by 
Alexander Pope. 



60 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1450- 



Dr, Donne to the Marquess of Buckingham, 

Sept. 13, 1621. 

My most honoured Lord, — I most humbly beseech your Lord- 
ship, to afford this rag of Paper a room amongst your Evidences. 
It is your evidence, not for a Manner, but for a man. As I am 
a Priest, it is my Sacrifice of Prayer to God for your Lordship ; 
and as I am a Priest made able to subsist, and appear in God's 
Service, by your Lordship, it is a Sacrifice of my self to you. I 
deliver this Paper as my image ; and I assist the Power of any 
Conjurer with this imprecation upon my self, that as he shall tear 
this Papei', this Picture of mine, so I may be torn in my fortune, 
and in my Fame, if ever I have any Corner in my Heart dispos- 
sessed of a Zeal to your Lordship's Service. His Majesty hath 
given me a Royal Key into your Chamber, leave to stand in your 
presence, and your Lordship hath already such a Fortune, as that 
you shall not need to be afraid of a Suitor, when I appear there. 

So that, I protest to your Lordship, I know not what I want, 
since I cannot suspect, nor fear myself, for ever doing, or leaving 
undone, anything by which I might forfeit that Title, of being 
always 

Your Lordships, tfec. 

J. D. 

XLIV. 

The four short specimens which follow are characteristic of 
Dr. Donne's studied extravagance and quaintness of manner. 
They are taken from a volume of letters, published in the year 
1651, addressed ^ to several persons of honour.' The same pecu- 
liar turn of phrase and ingenious expression runs through the 
whole of this unique collection. No one knew better than Dr. 
Donne how to please his fashionable entourage in prose as well 
as in verse. 

Dr, Donne to Lady G . 

Madam, — I am not come out of England, if I remain in the 
noblest part of it, your mind ; yet I confess it is too much dimi- 
niition to call your mind any part of England, or of this world, 
since every part even of your body deserves titles of higher dignity. 
No Prince would ba loth to die, that were assured so fair a tomb 
to preserve his memory; but I hive a greater vantage than so; 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 61 

for since there is a religion in friendship, and a death in absence, 
to make up an entire frame there must be a heaven too : and 
there can be no Heaven so proportional to that religion, and that 
death, as your favour. And I am gladder that it is a heaven, than 
that it were a Court, or any other high place of this world, because 
I am likelier to have a room there than here ; and better cheap. 
Madam, my best treasure is time ; and my best employment of 
that is to study good wishes for you, in which I am by continual 
meditation so learned, that your own good Angel, when it would 
do you most good, might be content to come and take instructions 
from 

Your humble and affectionate Servant, 

John Donite. 

XLV. 

Dr. Donne to Sir Henry Goodere. 

August 15, 1607. 

Sii", — In the history or style of friendship which is best written 
both in deeds and words, a letter which is of a mixed nature, and 
hath something of both, is a mixed Parenthesis. It may be left 
out, yet it contributes, though not to the being yet to the verdure 
and freshness thereof. Letters have truly the same office as Oaths. 
As these amongst light and empty men are but fillings and pauses 
and interjections j but with weightier, they are sad attestations ; 
so are letters to some compliment, and obligation to others. For 
mine, as I never authorized my servant to lie in my behalf (for 
it were officious in him, it might be worse in me) so I allow my 
letters much less that civil dishonesty, both because they go from 
me more considerately, and because they are permanent ; for in 
them I may speak to you in your Chamber a year hence before I 
know not whom, and not hear myself. 

They shall, therefore ever keep the sincerity and intemerate- 
ness of the fountain whence they are derived. And as where- 
soever these leaves fall, the root is in my heart, so shall they, as 
that sucks good affections towards you there, have ever true im- 
])ressions thereof. Thus much information is in very leaves, that 
they can tell what the tree is, and these can tell you I am a friend 
and an honest man. Of what general use the fruit should speak, 
and I have none; and of what particular m^ofit to you, your 
4* 



62 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

application and experimenting should tell you, and you can make 
none of such a nothing ; yet even of barren Sycamores, such as I, 
there were use, if either any light flashings, or scorching vehe- 
mencies, or sudden showers made you need so shadowy an example 
or remembrancer. But, Sir, your fortune and mind do you this 
happy injury, that you make all kinds of fruits useless to you. 
Therefore I have placed my love wisely where I need communicate 
nothing. All this, tho' perchance you read it not till Michaelmas, 
was told you at Micham. 



XLVI. 

Dr. Donne to the worthiest Lady Mrs. B. W- 



Madame, — -I think the letters which I send you single lose 
themselves by the way for want of a guide, or faint for want of 
company. Now, that on your part there be no excuse, after 
three single letters, I send three together, that every one of them 
may have two witnesses of their delivery. They come also to 
wait upon another letter from Sir Edward Herbert, of whose re- 
covery from a fever you may apprehend a perfecter contentment 
than we, because you had none of the former sorrow. I am an 
heretic if it be sound doctrine that pleasure tastes best after sorrow. 
For my part I can love health well enough though I be never 
sick ; and I never needed my Mistress' frowns and disfavours to 
make her favours acceptable to me. In States, it is a weakness 
to stand upon a defensive war, and safer not to be invaded than to 
have overcome; so in our soul's health, an innocence is better 
than the heartiest repentance. And in the pleasures of this life it 
is better that the variety of the pleasures give us the taste and 
appetite to it, than a sour and sad interruption quicken our 
stomach ; for then we live by Physic. I wish therefore all your 
happinesses such as this entire and without flaw or spot of discon- 
tentment ; and such is the love and service of 

Your humblest and afiectionatest servant, 

John Donne. 

Strand : St. Peter's Day, at 4. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 63 

XLVII. 

D7\ Donne to Sir J. H . 



Aug. 6, 1608. 

I would not omit this, not commodity, but advantage of 
writing to you. This emptiness in London dignifies any letter 
from hence, as in the seasons, earliness and lateness make the 
sourness, and after the sweetness of fruits acceptable and gracious. 
We often excuse and advance mean authors, by the age in which 
they lived, so will your love do this Letter ; and you will tell 
yourself that if he which writ it knew wherein he might express 
his affection or anything which might have made his Letter wel- 
comer, he would have done it. As it is, you may accept it so, as 
we do many China manufactures, of which when we know no use, 
yet we satisfy our curiosity in considering them, because we know 
not how, nor of what matter they were made. Near great woods 
and quarries it is no wonder to see fair houses, but in Holland, 
which wants both, it is. 

So were it for me who am as far removed from Court, and 
knowledge of foreign passages, as this City is now from the face 
and furniture of a City, to build up a long letter and to write of 
myself, were but to enclose a poor handful of straw for a token in 
a letter ; yet I will tell you that I am at London only to provide 
for Monday, when I shall use that favour which my Lady Bed- 
ford hath afforded me of giving her name to my daughter ; which 
I mention to you, as well to shew that I covet any occasion of a 
grateful speaking of her favours, as that, because I have thought 
the day is likely to bring you to London, I might tell you, that 
my poor house is in your way, and you shall there find such com- 
pany as (I think) you will not be loth to accompany to London. 

Your very true friend, 

John Donne. 

XLVIII. 

The Countess of Bedford patronised both Jonson and Daniel, 
a circumstance that roused the jealousy of the latter. Donne 
wrote to Jonson begging him to refrain from openly noticing 
some false charge made in this connection, and the great drama- 
tist replied as follows. 



64 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

Ben Jonson to John Donne. 

Sir, — You cannot but believe how dear and reverend your 
iriendship is to me, (though all testimony on my part bath been 
too short to express me) and therefore would I meet it with all 
obedience. My mind is not yet so deafened by injuries, but it 
hath an car for counsel. Yet in this point that you presently dis- 
suade, I wonder how I am misunderstood ; or that you should 
call that an imaginary right, which is the proper justice that 
every clear man owes to his innocency. Exasperations I intend 
none, for truth cannot be sharp but to ill natures, or such weak 
ones whom ill spirits, suspicion or credulity, still possess. My 
lady may believe whisperings, receive tales, suspect and condemn my 
honesty, and I may not answer on the pain of losing her ! as if 
she who had this prejudice of me were not already lost ! Oh ! no, 
she will do me no hurt, she will think and speak well of my facul- 
ties. She cannot thus judge me; or, if she could, I would ex- 
change all glory, (if I had all men's abilities) which could come 
that way, for honest simplicity. But there is a greater penalty 
threatened, the loss of you, my true friend ; for others' I reckon 
not, who were never had ^ have so subscribed myself. Alas ! how 
easy is a man accused that is forsaken of defence! "Well, my 
modesty shall sit down, and (let the world call it guilt or what 
it will) I will yet thank you that counsel me to a silence in these 
oppressures, when confidence in my right, and friends, may abandon 
me. And lest yourself may undergo some hazard, for my ques- 
tioned reputation, and draw jealousies or hatred upon you, I desire 
to be left to mine own innocence, which shall acquit me, or heaven 

shall be guilty. 

Your ever true lover 

Ben Jonson. 

XLIX. 

This and the following outburst of devotional resignation 
are the last letters written by Eliot before his death in the 
Tower on Nov. 27, 1632. The King, knowing well that he 
was suffering from a mortal disease, obstinately refused to 
allow him the needful care and treatment. 

» These are the words of Jonson's letter. He seems to mean, *I 
reckon not (friends) whom I never really possessed.' 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 65 

Sir John Eliot to John Hampden. 

The Tower : Marcli 22, 1632. 
Dear friend, — Quit you as speedily as you can, for without it 
you are faulty. I thank God lately my business has been much 
with doctors and physicians, so that but by them I have had 
little trouble with myself. These three weeks I have had a full 
leisure to do nothing, and strictly tied unto it either by their 
direction or my weakness. The cause originally was a cold, but 
the symptoms that did follow it spake more sickness, and a general 
indisposition it begot in all the faculties of the body. The learned 
said a consumption did attend it, but I thank God I did not feel 
or credit it. What they advise, as the ordinance that's appointed, 
I was content to use ; and in the true show of patient, suffered 
whatever they imposed. Great is the authority of princes, but 
greater much is theirs who both command our persons and our 
wills. What the success of their government will be must be 
referred to Him that is master of their power. I find myself 
bettered, but not well, which makes me the more ready to observe 
them. The divine blessing must effectuate their wit, which authors 
all the happiness we receive. It is that mercy that has hitherto 
protected me, and, if I may seem useful in his wisdom, will con- 
tinue me, amongst other offices, to remain. 

Your faithful Eriend and Servant, 

Jo. Eliot* 

L. 

Sir John Eliot to John Hampden. 

The Tower : 1632. 
Besides the acknowledgment of your favour, that have so much 
compassion on your friend I have little to return you from him 
that has nothing worthy of your acceptance, but the contestation 
that I have between an ill body and the air, that quarrel, and are 
friends, as the summer winds affect them. I have these three 
days been abroad, and as often brought in new impressions of the 
colds, yet, body and strength and appetite I find myself bettered 
by the motion. Cold at first was the occasion of my sickness, 
heat and tenderness by close keeping in my chamber has since 



66 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

increased my weakness. Air and exercise are thouglit most proper 
to repair it, which are the prescription of my doctors, though no 
physic. I thank God other medicines I now take not, but those 
catholicons, and do hope I shall not need them. As children learn 
to go, I shall get acquainted with the air, practice and use will 
compass it, and now and then a fall is an instruction for the future. 
These varieties He does try us with, that will have us perfect at 
all parts, and as he gives the trial he likewise gives the ability 
that shall be necessary for the work. He has the Philistine at the 
disposition of his will, and those that trust him, under his protec- 
tion and defence. ! infinite mercy of our Master, dear friend, 
how it abounds to us, that are unworthy of his service ! How 
broken ! how imperfect ! how perverse and crooked are our ways in 
obedience to him ! How exactly straight is the line of his provi- 
dence to us ! drawn out through all occurrents and particulars to 
the whole length and measure of our time ! How perfect is his 
hand that has given his son ,unto us, and through him has pro- 
mised likewise to give us all things — relieving our wants, sanctify- 
ing our necessities, preventing our dangers, freeing us from all 
extremities, and dying himself for us ! What can w-e render % 
What retribution can we make worthy so great a majesty % 
worthy such love and favour % We have nothing but ourselves 
who are unworthy above all and yet that, as all other things, is 
his. For us to offer up that, is but to give him of his own, and 
that in far worse condition than we at first received it, which yet 
(for infinite is his goodness for the merits of his son) he is con- 
tented to accept. This, dear friend, must be the comfort of his 
children ; this is the physic we must use in all our sickness and 
extremities ; this is the strengthening of the weak, the nourishing 
of the poor, the liberty of the captive, the health of the diseased, 
the life of those that die, the death of the wretched life of sin ! 
And this happiness have his saints. The contemplation of this 
happiness has led me almost beyond the compass of a letter ; but 
the haste I use unto my friends, and the affection that does move 
it, will I hope excuse me. Friends should communicate their 
joys : this as the greatest, therefore, I could not but impart unto 
my friend, being therein moved by the present expectation of your 
letters, which always have the grace of much intelligence, and are 
happiness to him that is truly yours. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 67 



LI. 

' Money makes the mirth 
When all birds els do of their musick faile 
Money's the still-sweet-singing nightingale.' 

Thus sang, long after his impecunious days at Cambridge, 
the Royalist Vicar of Dean Prior, Robert Herrick. By a strange 
irony of fortune the only letters we possess from the genial 
and glowing pen of the great poet of the Hesperides are a series 
of plaintive notes to his rich uncle, Sir William Herrick ; and 
we may gather from them that this amiable relative's money 
paid for the piping of some of the most graceful lyrics in the 
English language. 

Robert Herrick to Sir William Herrick. 

Are the minds of men immutable % and will they rest in only 
one opinion without the least perspicuous shew of change % no, 
they cannot, for Tempera mutantur et nos mutamur in illis : it 
is an old but yet young saying i» our age, as times change, so 
men's minds are altered. O would .... were seen, for then 
some pitying Planet would with a drop of dew refresh my withered 
hopes, and give a life to that which is about to die ; the body is 
preserved by food, and life by hope, which (but wanting either of 
these conservers) faint, fear, fall, freeze, and die. 'Tis in youi* 
power to cure all, to infuse by a profusion a double life into a 
single body. Homo homini Deus : man should be so, and he is 
commanded so; but, frail and glass-like, man proves brittle in 
many things. How kind Arcisilaus the philosopher was unto 
Apelles the painter Plutarc in his Morals will tell you ; which 
should I here depaint, the length of my letter would hide the sight 
of my Labour, which that it may not, I bridle in my Quill and 
mildly, and yet I fear to rashly and to boldly make known and 
discover which my modesty would conceal ; and this is all : my 
study craves but your assistance to furnish her with books, where- 
in she is most desirous to labour : blame not her modest boldness, 
but suffer the aspersions of your love to distill upon her, and next 
to Heaven she will consecrate her labours unto you, and because 
that Time hath devoured some years, I am the more importunate 
in the craving; suffer not the distance to hijider that which 1 
know your disposition will not deny. And now is the time (that 
florida setas) which promises fruitfulness for her former barren- 



68 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

ness, and wishetli all to hope. As every thing will have in time 
an end, so this, which though it would extend itself and overflow 
its bounds I forcibly withstand it. Wishing this world's happi- 
ness to follow and attend you in this life, and that with a trium- 
phant crown of glory you may be crowned in the best world to 
come. 

Robert Herrick. 

LIT. 

Robert Herrich to Sir William Herrick. 

Cambridge : January, 1616. 

Before yon unsealed my letter, right Worshipful, it cannot be 
doubted but you had perfect knowledge of the essence of my writ- 
ing, before you read it ; for custom hath made you expect in my 
plain-song, mitte pecuniam, that being the cause sine qud non, or 
the power that gives life and being to each matter. I delight not 
to draw your imagination to inextricable perplexities, or knit up 
my love in indissoluble knots, but make no other exposition but 
the literal sense, which is to entreat you to pay to Mr. Adrian 
Morice the sum of ten pounds as customarily; and to take a note 
of his hand for the receipt, which I desire may be effected briefly, 
because the circumstance of the time must be expressed. I per- 
ceive I must cry with the afflicted usquequo, usquequo, Domine. 
Yet I have confidence that I live in your memory, howsoever 
Time brings not the thing hoped for to its just maturity; but 
my belief is strong, and I do establish my hopes on rocks, and fear 
no quicksands ; be you my firm assistant, and good effects, pro- 
duced from vii-tuous causes will follow. So shall my wishes pace 
with yours for the supplement of your own happiness, and the 
perfection of your own posterity. 

Ever to be commanded, 

Robert Herrick. 

To pay to Mr. Blunt, bookseller in Paul's Churchyard, the 
sum above-named. 

LIII. 

At the age of eighty-seven Isaac Walton wrote the follow- 
ing letter to his friend Aubrey, in reply to some inquiries he 
had made respecting * Rare Ben Jonson'and other less impor- 
tant personages. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 69 

Isaac Walton to John Aubrey. 

Dec. 2, 1680. 
For your friends' quae, this : 

I only knew Ben Jonson, but my Lord of Winton knew 
him very well, and says he was in the 6 th, that is the upper- 
most form in Westminster School, at which time his father 
died, and his mother married a bricklayer, who made him 
(miich against his will) to help liim in his trade. But in a short 
time his schoolmaster, Mr. Camden, got him in better em- 
ployment, which was to attend or accompany a son of Sir Walter 
Bunleyes in his travels. Within a short time after their return, 
they parted (I think not in cold blood) and with a love suitable 
to what they had in their travels (not to be commended) ; and 
then Ben began to set up for himself in the trade by which he got 
his subsistence and fame, of which I need not give any account. 
He got in time to have a ^100 a year from the King, also a pen- 
sion from the city, and the like from many of the nobility, and 
some of the gentry, which was well paid for love or fear of his 
railing in verse or prose or both. 

My Lord of Winton told me, he told him he was (in his long 
retirement and sickness, when he saw him, which was often) 
much afflicted that he had profaned the Scripture in his plays, and 
lamented it with horror ; yet at that time of his long retii-ement, 
his pensions (so much as came in) were given to a woman that 
governed him, with whom he lived and died near the Abbey at 
Westminster ; and that neither he nor she took much care for next 
week, and would be sure not to want wine, of which he usually 
took too much before he went to bed, if not oftener and sooner. 
My Lord tells me, he knows not, but thinks he was born in 
Westminster. The question may be put to Mr. Wood very easily 
upon what grounds he is positive as to his being born there ? he 
is a friendly man and will resolve it. So much for brave Ben. 

For your 2nd and 3rd quse. of Mr. Hill and Billingsley, I do 
neither know nor can learn anything worth telling you. For your 
remaining qure. of Mr. Warner and Mr. Hariott, this : — Mr. War- 
ner did long and constantly lodge near the water stairs or market 
in Woolstable (Woolstable is a pbce or lane not far from Cliaring 
Cross, and nearer to Northumberland House). My Lord of VVin- 



70 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

chester tells me lie knew him, and that he said he first found out 
the circulation of the blood, and discovered it to Dr. Harvey (who 
said that 'twas he himself that found it) for which he is so memo- 
rably famous. Warner had a pension of £40 from the Earl of 
Northumberland that lay so long a prisoner in the Tower, and 
some allowance from Sir Thomas Alesbury with whom he usually 
spent his summer in Windsor Park. 

Mr. Hariott my Lord tells me knew also, that he was a more 
gentle man than Warner. That he had £120 a year pension from 
the said Earl and his lodging in Sion House where he beKeves he 
died. 

This is all I know or can learn for your friend, which I wish 
may be worth the time and trouble of reading it. 

I. W. 

LIV. 

The tedium of Sir John Eliot's imprisonment in the Tower 
from 1630 to 1632 was relieved by the gifts and correspondence 
of his friends ; among these the most assiduous was the great 
champion of English liberty, John Hampden. The present 
letter contains Hampden's impression of the '• Monarchy of 
Man,' a philosophical treatise written by Eliot during his last 
imprisonment. 

John Ham'pden to Sir John Eliot. 

Hampden: June 20, 1631. 
Sir, — ^You shall receive the book I promised by this bearer's 
immediate hand ; for the other papers I presume to take a little, 
but a little, respite. I have looked upon your rare piece only with 
a superficial view, as at first sight to take the aspect and propor- 
tion in the whole ; after, with a more accurate eye, to take out the 
lineaments of every part. 'Twere rashness in me, therefore, to dis- 
cover any judgment, before I have ground to make one. This I 
discern, that 'tis as complete an image of the pattern as can be 
drawn by lines, a lively character of a large mind ; the subject, 
method and expressions, excellent and homogenial, and to say 
truth, sweet heart, somewhat exceeding my commendations. My 
words cannot render them to the life, yet, to show my ingenuity 
rather than my wit, would not a less model have given a full 
representation of that subject 1 not by diminution, but by con- 
traction, of parts ? I desire to learn ; I dare not say. The varia- 



1600J ENGLISH LETTERS. 71 

tions upon each particular seem many; all, T confess, excellent. 
The fountain was full, the chanell narrow ; that may be the cause. 
Or that the author imitated Yirgil, who made more verses by 
many than he intended to write, to extract a just number. Had 
I seen all this, I could easily have bid him make fewer j but if he 
had bid me tell which he should have spared, I had been apposed. 
So say I of these expressions, and that to satisfy you, not myself; 
but that by obeying you in a command so contrary to my own 
disposition, you may measure bow large a power you have 
over 

Jo. Hampden. 

Recommend my service to Mr. Long, and if Sir O. Luke bo 
in town, express my affection to him in these words. The first 
part of your papers you had by the hands of B. Valentine long 
since. If you hear of your sons, or can send to them, let me 
know. 



LV. 

James Howel was the author of upwards of forty miscel- 
laneous works, but is now chiefly remembered by his ' Epistolse 
Ho-Elianae,' or familiar letters, first printed in 1645. He may 
be called the Father of Epistolary Literatm-e, the first writer, 
that is to say, of letters which, addressed to individuals, were 
intended for publication. A style animated, racy, and pictu- 
resque ; keen powers of observation ; great literary skill ; an 
eager, restless, curious spirit ; some humour and much wit ; 
and a catholicity of sympathy very unusual with the writers 
of his age — are his chief claims to distinction. 

If the following remarks of Howel on the composition of a 
letter were supplemented by the observations of his friend Ben 
Jonson on the same subject, we should be furnished with a terse 
and complete art of letter-writing. Honest Howel's complaints 
about the letters of his own day scarcely lose their significance 
when applied to the letters of ours. 

James Howel to Sir J. S at Leeds Castle. 

Westminster: July 25, 1625. 
Sir, — It was a quaint difference the ancients did put betwix 
a letter and an oration ; that the one should be attired like a 
woman, the other like a man : the latter of the two is allowed 
large side robes, as long periods, parentheses, similes, examples, 
and other parts of rhetorical flourishes; but a letter or epistle 



72 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

should be short-coated and closely couched ; a hungerlin becomes 
a letter more handsomely than a gown ; indeed we should write 
as we speak ; and that's a true familiar letter which expresseth 
one's mind, as if he were discoursing with the party to whom he 
writes, in succinct and short terms. The tongue and the pen are 
both of them interpreters of the mind ; but I hold the pen to be 
the more faithful of the two. The tongue in udo posita, being 
seated in a moist slippery place, may fail and faulter in her sudden 
extemporal expressions ; but the pen having a greater advantage 
of premeditation, is not so subject to error, and leaves things be- 
hind it upon firm and authentic record. Now letters, though 
they be capable of any subject, yet commonly they are either 
narratory, objurgatory, consolatory, monitory, or congratulatory. 
The first consists of lelations, the second of reprehensions, the 
third of comfort, the two last of counsel and joy : there are some 
who in lieu of letters wiite homilies; they preach when they 
should epistolize : there are others that turn them to tedious 
tractates : this is to make letters degenerate from their trvie 
nature. Some modern authors there are who have exposed their 
letters to the world, but most of them, I mean among your Latin 
epistolizers, go freighted with mere Bartholomew ware, with trite 
and trivial phrases only, lifted with pedantic shreds of school-boy 
verses. Others there are among our next transmarine neighbours 
eastward, who write in their own language, but their style is so 
soft and easy, that their letters may be said to be like bodies of 
loose flesh without sinews, they have neither joints of art nor 
arteries in them ; they have a kind of simpering and lank hectic 
expressions made up of a bombast of words and finical affected 
compliments only. I cannot well away with such fleazy stuff", 
with such cobweb-compositions, where there is no streng-th of 
matter, nothing for the reader to carry away with him that may 
enlarge the notions of his soul.. One shall hardly find an apoph- 
thegm, example, simile, or any thing of philosophy, history, or 
solid knowledge, or as much as one new created phrase in a hun- 
dred of them ; and to draw any observations out of them, were as 
if one went about to distil cream out of froth ; insomuch that it 
may be said of them, what was said of the Echo, ' that she is a 
mere sound and nothing else.' 

I return you your Balzac by this bearer : and when I found 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 73 

those letters wherein he is so familiar with his King, so flat ; and 
those to Richlieu so puffed with prophane hyperboles, and larded 
up and down with such gross flatteries, I forbore him further. 
So I am your most affectionate servitor. 



LVI. 

This letter is interesting- as being a contemporary account of 
the death of James I., and of the accession of Charles I. The 
suspicion that the King was poisoned by the instrumentality of 
Buckingham, though very improbable, has been suggested by 
other writers besides Howel. 

James Hoiuel to his Father. 

London: Dec. 11, 1625. 

Sir, — I received yours of the 3rd February by the hands of my 
cousin Thomas Guin of Trecastle. 

It was my fortune to be on Sunday was fortnight at Theobalds, 
where his late Majesty Kin.s;- James departed this life, and went 
to his last rest upon the day of rest, presently after Sermon was 
done : A little before the break of day, he sent for the Prince, 
who rose out of his bed, and came in his night-gown ; the King 
seem'd to have some earnest thing to say unto him, and so en- 
deavour'd to rouse himself upon his Pillow, but his Spirits were 
so spent that he had not strength to make his words audible. He 
died of a fever which began with an Ague, and some Scotch Doc- 
tors mutter at a plaster the Countess of Buckingham applied at 
the outside of his stomach : 'Tis thought the last breach of the 
match with Spain, which for many years he had so vehemently 
desir'd, took too deep an impression in him, and that he was forc'd 
to rush into a War, now in his declining age, having liv'd in a 
continual uninterrupted peace his whole life, except some colla- 
teral aids he had sent his Son-in-law. As soon as he expir'd, the 
Privy Council sat, and in less than a quarter of an hour. King 
Charles was proclaim'd at Theobalds Court-gate, by Sir Edward 
Zouch Knight Marshal, Master Secretary Conway dictating unto 
him, that whereas it had pleas'd God to take to his mercy our 
most gracious Sovereign King James of famous memory, we pro- 
claim Prince Charles his rightful and indubitable Heir to be Kinac 
of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, &c. The Knight Mar- 



74 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U50- 

slial mistook, saying, his rightful and duhitahle heir, but he was 
rectified by the Secretary. This being done, I took my horse in- 
stantly, and came to London first, except one, who was come a 
little before me, insomuch, that I found the gates shut. His now 
Majesty took Coach, and the Duke of Buckingham with him, and 
came to Saint James ; in the evening he was proclaim'd at White 
Hall Gate, in Cheapside, and other places in a sad shower of rain ; 
and the weather was suitable to the condition wherein he finds the 
Kingdom which is cloudy; for he is left engag'd in a war with a 
potent Prince, the people by long desuetude unapt for arms, the 
Fleet Royal in quarter repair and himself without a queen, his 
sister without a country, the crown pitifully laden with debts, and 
the purse of the State lightly ballasted, though it never had better 
opportunity to be rich than it had these last twenty years : But 
God Almighty, I hope will make him emerge, and pull this 
Island out of all the plunges, and preserve us from worser times. 
The plague is begun in White-Chapel, and as they say, in the same 
house, at the same day of the month, with the same number that 
died twent/ two years since, when queen Elizabeth departed. 
There are great preparations for the funeral, and there is a design 
to buy all the cloth for mourning white, and then to put it to the 
dyers in gross, which is like to save the crown a good deal of 
money, the drapers murmur extremely at the Lord Cran field for it. 

I am not settled yet in any stable Condition, but I lie wind- 
bound at the Cape of Good Hope, expecting some gentle gale to 
launch out into any employment. 

So with my love to all my brothers and sisters at the Bryn 
and near Brecknock, I humbly crave a continuance of your prayers 

and blessings to, 

Your dutiful son, 

J. H. 



LVH. 

Of the many accounts of the assassination of George Villiers, 
Duke of Buckingham, by Felton, this is one of the fullest. It 
differs in one or two minor details from that given by Secretary 
Carleton, who was present, and whose account is published in 
Ellis's ' Collection of Original Letters,' vol. iii. pp. 256-260 ; but 
Howel is, as usual, fresh and graphic, and may doubtless be 
trusted, as he was acquainted with many of the officers 
connected with the Court. 



[1600 ENGLISH LETTERS. 75 

James Howel to the Et. Hon. Lady Scroop, Countess of 
Sunderland. 

Stamford : Aug. 5, 1628. 

Madam, — I lay yesternight at the post-house at Stilton, and 
this morning betimes the post-master came to my bed's-head, and 
told me the Duke of Buckingham was slain ; 

My faith was not then strong enough to believe it, till an hour 
ago I met in the way with my Lord of Rutland (your brother) 
riding post towards London; it pleased him to alight, and shew 
me a letter, wherein there was an exact relation of all the circum- 
stances of this sad tragedy. 

Upon Saturday last, which was but next before yesterday, 
being Bartholomew eve, the Duke did rise up in a well disposed 
humour out of his bed, and cut a caper or two, and being ready, 
and having been under the barber's hand (where the murderer had 
thought to have done the deed, for he was leaning upon the window 
all the while) he went to breakfast, attended by a great company 
of commanders, where Monsieur Subize came to him, and whis- 
pered him in the ear that Rochelle was relieved ; the Duke 
seemed to slight the news, which made some think that Subize 
went away discontented. 

After breakfast the Duke going out, Colonel Fryer sfcept before 
him, and stopped him upon some business, and Lieutenant Felton, 
bpiing behind, made a thrust with a common tenpenny knife over 
Fryer's arm at the Duke, which lighted so fatally that he slit his 
heart in two, leaving the knife sticking in the body. The Duke 
took out the knife and threw it away : and laying his hand on his 
sword, and drawing it half out, said, * The villain hath killed me,' 
(meaning, as some think. Colonel Fryer) for there had been some 
difference betwixt them ; so reeling against a chimney, he fell 
down dead. The Dutchess being with child, hearing the noise 
below, came in her night-geers from her bedchamber, which was 
in an upper room, to a kind of rail, and thence beheld him welter- 
ing in his own blood. Felton had lost his hat in the crowd, 
wherein there was a paper sewed, wherein he declared, that the 
reason which moved him to this act, was no grudge of his own, 
though he had been far behind for his pay, and had been put by 
his Captain's place twice, but in regard he thought the Duke an 



76 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

enemy to the state, because lie was branded in parliament ; there- 
fore what he did was for the public good of his country. Yet he 
got clearly down, and so might have gone to his horse, which was 
tied to a hedge hard by ; but he was so amazed that he missed his 
way, and so struck into the pastry, where, although the cry went 
that some Frenchman had done it, he, thinking the word was 
Felton, boldly confessed it was he that had done the deed, and so 
he was in their hands. 

Jack Stamford would have run at him, but he was kept off by 
Mr. Nicholas ; so being carried up to a tower, Captain Mince tore 
off his spurs, and asking how he durst attempt such an act, making 
him believe the Duke was not dead, he answered boldly, that he 
knew he was dispatched, for it was not he, but the hand of 
heaven that gave the stroke; and though his whole body had been 
covered over with armour of proof, he could not have avoided it. 
Captain Charles Price went post presently to the King four miles 
off, who being at prayers on his knees when it was told him, yet 
never stirred, nor was he disturbed a- whit till all divine service 
was done. This was the relation, as far as my memory could bear, 
in my Lord of Rutland's letter, who willed me to remember him 
to your Ladyship, and tell you that he was going to comfort your 
niece (the Dutchess) as far as he could. And so I have sent the 
truth of this sad story to your Ladyship, as fast as I could by this 
post, because I cannot make that speed myself, in regard of some 
business I have to dispatch for my Lord in the way : so I humbly 
take my leave, and rest your Ladyship's most dutiful servant. 



LVIII. 

Though Howel has here chosen a theme on which some of 
the noblest rhetoric in literature has been expended, there are 
many little touches which redeem it from being commonplace. 
It may very possibly have furnished Addison with a model for 
the similar reflections in which he dehghted to indulge. 

James Hoiuel to Sir S. G . 



Holborn : March 17, 1639. 
Sir, — I was upon point of going abroad to steal a solitary 
walk, when yours of the 12*^ current came to hand. The high 
researches and choice abstracted notions I found therein, seemed to 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 77 

heighten my spirits, and make my fancy fitter for my intended re- 
tirement and meditation : add hereunto, that the countenance of 
the weather invited me ; for it was a still evening, it was also a 
clear open sky, not a speck, or the least wrinkle appeared in the 
whole face of heaven, it was such a pure deep azure all the hemi- 
sphere over, that I wondered what was become of the three regions 
of the air with their meteors. So having got into a close field, I 
cast my face upwards, and fell to consider what a rare prerogative 
the optic virtue of the eye hath, much more the intuitive virtue in 
the thought^ that the one in a moment can reach heaven, and the 
other go beyond it; therefore sure that a philosopher was but a 
kind of frantic fool, that would have plucked out both his eyes, 
because they were a hindrance to his speculations. Moreover, I 
began to contemplate, as I was in this posture, the vast magnitude 
of the universe, and what proportion this poor globe of earth might 
bear with it; for if those numberless bodies which stick in the vast 
roof of heaven, though they appear to us but as spangles, be some 
of them thousands of times bigger than the earth, take the sea 
with it to boot, for they both make but one sphere, surely the 
astronomers had reason to term this sphere an indivisible point, 
and a thing of no dimension at all, being compared to the whole 
world. I fell then to think, that at the second general destruc- 
tion, it is no more for God Almighty to fire this earth, than for us 
to blow up a small squib, or rather one small grain of gunpowder. 
As I was musing thus, I spied a swarm of gnats waving up and 
down the air about me, which I knew to be part of the universe 
as well as I : and methought it was a strange opinion of our 
Aristotle to hold, that the least of those small insected ephemerans 
should be more noble than the sun, because it had a sensitive 
soul in it. I fell to think that in the same proportion which 
those animalillios bore with me in point of bigness, the same I 
held with those glorious spirits which are near the throne of the 
Almighty. What then should we think of the magnitude of the 
Creator himself? Doubtless, it is beyond the reach of any human 
imagination to conceive it : in my private devotions I presume to 
compare him to a great mountain of light, and my soul seems to 
discern some glorious form therein ; but suddenly as she would fix 
her eyes upon the object, her sight is presently dazzled and dis- 
gregated with the refulgency and coruscations thereof. 
5 



78 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

Walking a little farther I spied a young boisterous bull breaking 
over hedge and ditch to a herd of kine in the next pasture ; which 
made me think, that if that fierce, strong animal, with others of 
that kind, knew their own strength, they would never suffer man 
to be their master. Then looking upon them quietly grazing up 
and down, I fell to consider that the flesh which is daily dished 
upon our tables is but concocted grass, which is recarnified in our 
stomachs, and transmuted to another flesh. I fell also to think, 
what advantage those innocent animals had of man, who as soon 
as nature cast them into the world, find their meat dressed, the 
cloth laid, and the table covered ; they find their drink brewed, 
and the buttery open, their beds made, and their clothes ready ; 
and though man hath the faculty of reason to make him a com- 
pensation for the want of those advantages, yet this reason brings 
with it a thousand perturbations of mind and perplexities of spirit, 
griping cares and anguishes of thought, which those harmless silly 
creatures were exempted from. Going on I came to repose myself 
upon the trunk of a tree, and I fell to consider further what 
advantage that dull vegetable had of those feeding animals, as not 
to be so troublesome and beholden to nature, nor to be subject to 
starving, to diseases, to the inclemency of the weather, and to be 
far longer- lived. Then I spied a great stone, and sitting a- while 
upon it, I fell to weigh in my thoughts that that stone was in a 
happier condition in some respects, than either of those sensitive 
creatures or vegetables I saw before; in regard that that stone 
which propagates by assimilation, as the philosophers say, needed 
neither grass nor hay, or any aliment for restoration of nature., nor 
water to refresh its roots, or the heat of the sun to attract the 
moistiu-e upwards, to increase growth, as the other did. As I 
directed my pace homeward, I spied a kite soaring high in the air, 
and gently gliding up and down the clear region so far above my 
head, that I fell to envy the bird extremely, and repine at his hap- 
piness, that he should have a privilege to make a nearer approach 
to heaven than I. 

Excuse me that I trouble you thus with these rambling medi- 
tations, they are to correspond with you in some part for those 
accurate fancies of yours lately sent me. So I rest your entire 
and true servitor. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS 79 



LIX. 

There is more elegance and less pedantry in this letter than 
is usual with the writers of the first half of the seventeenth 
century. It has all the spirit of Euphuism without its pedantry, 
and all its ingenuity of compliment without its fulsome exaggera- 
tion. 

James Howel to the Right Hon. Lady E. B . 



April 8 [1649]. 
Madam, — There is a French saying that courtesies and 
favours are like flowers^ which are sweet only while they are 
fresh, but afterwards they quickly fade and wither. I trannot 
deny but your favours to me might be compar'd to some kind of 
flowers (and they would make a thick Posie) but they should be to 
the flower call'd life everlasting ; or that pretty Vermilion flower 
whicb grows at the foot of the Mountain -^^tna in Sicily, which 
never loses anything of its first colour and scent. Those favours 
you did me thirty years ago in the life-time of your incomparable 
brother Mr. E.. Altham, (who left us in the flower of his age) me- 
thinks are as fresh to me as if they were done yesterday. Kor 
were it any danger to compare courtesies done to me to other 
flowers, as I use them : for I distil them in the limbeck of my 
memory, and so turn them to essences. But, Madam, I honour 
you not so much for favours, as for that precious brood of virtues 
which shine in you with that brightness, but specially for those 
high motions whereby your soul soars up so often towards heaven ; 
insomuch Madam, that if it were safe to call any Mortal a Saint, 
you should have that title from me, and I would be one of your 
chiefest Votaries; howsoever, I may without any superstition 
subscribe myself 

Your truly devoted Servant 

J. H. 

LX. 

In 1846, when the second edition of Mr. Oarlyle's ' Letters 
and Speeches of OHver Cromwell ' was published, an opportu- 
nity was given for the first time, of reading and imderstanding 
in their entirety authentic utterances which for two centuries 
had been coarsely handled and were found to he ' an agglome- 
rate of opaque confusions— darkness on the back of darkness, 
thick and threefold.' 



80 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1150- 

Mr. Caiiyle recommends everyone who would ' force a path 
for himself through that gloomy chaos called History of Seven- 
teenth Century/ to read through this collection. With all his 
enthusiasm he is willing to admit that these letters are devoid 
of eloquence, elegance, and often of clearness of expression, hut 
he considers them good of their kind. They were not written 
with any literary aim, hut during the throes of revolutionary 
struggles. Each misprinted, mispunctuated, and musty docu- 
ment was 'once all luminous as a hurning beacon, every word 
of it a live coal in its time ; it was once a piece of the general 
fire and light of human life.' 

This announcement of the battle of Worcester is fairly 
characteristic of Cromwell's epistolary style. His extraordinary 
success on the anniversar}^ of the victory at Dunbar was a 
turning-point in his career. Henceforth his aspirations increased, 
and it was not long before the wearer of ' Worcester's Laureat 
W^reath ' became the chief magistrate of the English Common- 
wealth. 

Oliver Cromwell to the Honourable William Lenthall, Speaker 
of the Parliament of England. 

Worcester : Sept. 4, 1651. 
Sir, — I am not able yet to give you an exact account of the 
great things the Lord hath wrought for this Commonwealth and 
for His People : and yet I am unwilling to be silent ; but, accord- 
ing to my duty, shall represent it to you as it comes to hand. 
This battle ^ was fought with various success for some hours, but 
still hopeful on your part ; and in the end became an absolute vic- 
tory, — and so full an one as proved a total defeat and ruin of the 
Enemy's Army ; and a possession of the town, our men entering 
at the Enemy's heels, and fighting with them in the streets with 
very great corn-age. We took all their baggage and artillery. 
What the slain are, I can give you no account, because we have 
not taken an exact view ; but they are very many, and must needs 
be so ; because the dispute was long and very near at hand ; and 
often at push of pike, and from one defence to another. There are 
about Six or Seven thousand prisoners taken here; and many 
officers and noblemen of very great quality : Duke of Hamilton, 
the Earl of Eothes, and divers other Noblemen, — I hear, the Earl 
of Lauderdale ; many officers of great quality, and some that will 
be fit subjects for your justice. 

' Cromwell had on the previous day written to inform the Speaker 
that a victory had been gained. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 81 

We have sent very considerable parties after the flying Enemy : 
I hear they have taken considerable numbers of prisoners^ and are 
very close in the pursuit. 

Indeed, I hear the Country riseth upon them everywhere ; and 
I believe the forces that lay, through Providence, at Bewdley, and 
in Shropshire and Staffordshire, and those with Colonel Lilburn 
were in a condition, as if this had been foreseen, to intercept what 
should return. 

A more particular account than this w^ill be prepared for you 
as we are able. I hear they had not many more than a Thousand 
horse in their body that fled ; and I believe you have near Four 
thousand forces following, and interposing between thsm and 
home ; — what fish they will catch, Time will declare. 

Their Army was about Sixteen thousand strong ; and fought 
ours on the Worcester Side of the Severn almost with their whole, 
whilst we had engaged about half our army on the other side but 
with parties of theirs. Indeed it was a stiff business ; yet I do not 
think we have lost Two -hundred men. Your new-raised forces 
did perform singular good service ; for which they deserve a very 
high estimation and acknowledgment ; as also for their willingness 
thereunto, — forasmuch as the same hath added so much to the re- 
putation of your affairs. They are all despatched home again; 
which I hope will be much for the ease and satisfaction of the 
country ; which is a great fruit of these successes. 

The dimensions of this mercy are above my thoughts. It is, 
for aught I know, a crowning mercy. Surely, if it be not, such a 
one we shall have, if this provoke those that are concerned in it to 
thankfulness ; and the Parliament to do the will of Him who hath 
done His will for it, and for the Nation j — whose good pleasure it 
is to establish the Nation and the Change of the Government, by 
making the People so willing to the defence thereof, and so signally 
blessing the endeavours of your servants in this late great woi-k. I 
am bold humbly to beg, That all thoughts may tend to the pro- 
moting of His honour who hath wrought so great salvation ; and 
that the fatness of these continued mercies may not occasion pride 
and wantonness, as formerly the like hath done to a chosen 
Nation ; ^ but that the fear of the Lord, even for His mercies may 

* ' But Jeshurun waxed fat and kicked ; thou art waxen fat, thou art 
grown thick, thou art covered with fatness ; then he forsook God which 



82 ENGLISH LETTERS. [U5 

keep an authority and a people so prospered, and blessed, and wit- 
nessed unto, humble and faithful; and that justice and righteous- 
ness, mercy and truth may flow from you as a thankful return to 
our gracious God. This shall be the prayer of. 
Sir, 
Your most humble and obedient Servant 

Oliver Cromwell. 
Your Officers behaved themselves with much honour in this 
service ; and the Person who is the bearer hereof was equal, in the 
performance of his duty, to most that served you that day. 



LXI. 

The genuineness of this letter has been doubted ; but Mr. 
Carlyle is satisfied that the style sufficiently declares it to be 
perfectly genuine. The letter is unique in two respects. ' It is,' 
says Mr. Carlyle, ^ the only one we have of Oliver Cromwell, 
the English Puritan King, to Giulio Mazarin, the Sicilian- 
French Cardinal, who are a very singular pair of correspondents 
brought together by the Destinies ! It is also the one glimpse 
we have from Oliver himself of the subterranean spy-world, in 
which, by a hard necessity, so many of his thoughts had to 
dweU.' 

There are two other quite unimportant notes from the Pro- 
tector to the Cardinal in the archives of the Foreign Office 
at Paris which Mr. Carlyle notices in his edition of ' Cromwell's 
Letters,' vol. v. pp. 264, 265. 

Protector Cromwell to Cardinal Mazarin. 

Whitehall: Dec. 26, 1656. 

The obligations, and many instances of affection, which I have 
received from your Eminency, do engage me to make returns 
suitable to your merit. But although I have this set home upon 
my spii'it, I may not (shall I tell you, I cannot X) at this juncture 
of time, and as the face of my affairs now stands, answer to your 
call for Toleration. 

I say, I cannot, as to a public Declaration of my sense in that 
point ; although I believe that under my Government your Emi- 
nency, in the behalf of Catholics, has less reason for complaint as 

made him, and lightly esteemed the rock of his salvation.' — Deuteronomy 
xxxii. 15. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 83 

to ligour upon mens' consciences than under the Parliament. For 
I have of some, and those very many, had comj)assion ; making a 
difference. Truly I have (and I may speak it with cheerful- 
ness in the presence of God, who is a witness within me to 
the truth of what I affirm) made a difference j and as Jude speaks 
* plucked many out of the fire,' — the raging fire of persecution, 
which did tyrannize over their consciences, and encroached by an 
arbitrariness of power upon their estates. And herein it is my 
purpose, as soon as I can remove impediments, and some weights 
that press me down, to make a farther progress, and discharge 
my promise to your Eminency in relation to that. 

And now I shall come to return your Eminency thanks for 
your judicious choice of that Person to whom you have intrusted 
our weightiest affair; an affair wherein your Eminency is con- 
cerned, though not in an equal degree and measuie with myself. 

I must confess that I had some doubts of its success, till Pro- 
vidence cleared them to me by the effects. I was, truly, and to 
speak ingenuously, not without doubtings ; and shall not be 
ashamed to give your Eminency the grounds I had for much 
doubting. I did fear that Berkley ' would not have been able 
to go through and carry on that work ; and that either the Duke 
would have cooled in his suit,^ or condescend to his brother. I 
doubted also that those instructions which I sent over with 290 * 
were not clear enough as to expressions ; some affaii's here deny- 
ing me leisure at that time to be so particular as, in regard to 
some circumstances, I would. 

If I am not mistaken in his ' the Duke's ' character, as I 
received it from your Eminency, that fire which is kindled between 
them will not ask bellows to blow it and keep it burning. But 
what I think farther necessary in this matter I will send to your 
Eminency by Lockhart. 

And now I shall boast to your Eminency my security upon a 
well-builded confidence in the Lord : for I distrust not but if this 
breach be widened a little more and this difference fomented, with 
a little caution in respect of the persons to be added to it, — I dis- 
trust not but that Party, which is already forsaken of God as to 

* Sir John Berkeley, the Duke of York's tutor. 

2 Allusion to Charles Stuart and his brother, the Duke of York, 

» Cipher for the name of some emissary. 



84 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1450- 

an outward dispensation of mercies, and noisome to their country- 
men, will grow lower in the opinion of all the world. If I have 
troubled your Eminency too long in this, you may impute it to 
the resentment of joy which I have for the issue of this Affair ; ^ 
and I will conclude with giving you assurance that I will never 
be backward in demonstrating, as becomes your brother and con- 
federate, that I am 

Your Servant 

Oliver P. 



LXII. 

The drift of Cromwell's foreign policy was to bring about a 
vigorous coahtion of Protestant Europe in alliance with Eng- 
land. A treaty which he made with France against Spain, in 
March 1667, contained a proviso that the Enghsh troops should 
combine with the French in attacking the three coast towns of 
Gravelines, Mardyke, aud Dankirk ; and, in the event of success, 
the two latter towns were to belong to England. When it 
was ascertained that the French King and the Cardinal were 
proposing to utilise our troops for another purpose, Cromwell 
soon brought Mazarin to a sense of his duty, by writing the two 
following letters to the English Ambassador. It was said in 
France that the Cardinal feared Oliver more than the devil ; 
and Mr. Carlyle remarks, ' he ought indeed to fear the devil 
much more, but Oliver is the palpabler entity of the two ! ' 

Oliver Cromiuell to Sir William Lochhart, our Ambassador in 
France. 

Whitehall : Aug. 31, 1657. 
Sir, — I have seen your last letter to Mr. Secretary, as also 
divers others : and although I have no doubt either of your dili- 
gence or ability to serve us in so great a Business, yet I am deeply 
sensible that the French are very much short with us in ingenu- 
ousness and performance. And that which increaseth our sense of 
this is, The resolution we for our part had, rather to overdo than 
to be behindhand in anything of our Treaty, And although we 
never were so foolish as to apprehend that the French and their 
interests were the same with ours in all things ; yet as to the 
Spaniards, who hath been known in all ages to be the most impla- 

* The ' affair ' is presumed to have reference to a dispute between the 
Duke of York and his brother on a question of Spanish policy. 



1600] ENGLISH LETTERS. 85 

cable enemy that France hath, — we never could doubt before wo 
made our Treaty, that, going upon such grounds, we should have 
been failed towards as we are ! 

To talk of ' giving us Garrisons ' which are inland, as Caution 
for future action; to talk of 'what will be done next Campaign,' 
— are but parcels of words for children. If they will give us Gar- 
risons, let them give us Calais, Dieppe and Boulogne ; — which I 
think they will do as soon as be honest in their words in giving us 
any one Spanish Garrison upon the coast into our hands ! I posi- 
tively think, which I say to you, they are afraid we should have 
any footing on that side of the water, though Spanish. 

I pray you tell the Cardinal, from me, That I think, if France 
desii'es to maintain its ground, much more to get ground upon the 
Spaniard, the performance of his Treaty with us will better do it 
than anything appears yet to me of any Design he hath ! — 
Though we cannot so well pretend to soldiery as those that are 
with him ; yet we think that, we being able by sea to strengthen 
and secure his Siege, and to reinforce it as we please by sea, and 
the Enemy being in capacity to do nothing to relieve it, — the best 
time to besiege that Place will be now. Especially if we consider 
that the French horse will be able so to ruin Flanders as that no 
succour can be brought to relieve the place ; and that the French 
Army and our own will have constant relief, as far as England 
and France can give it, without any manner of impediment, — 
especially considering the Dutch are now engaged so much to 
Southward as they are. 

I desire you to let him know That Englishmen have had so 
good experience of Winter expeditions, they are confident, if the 
Spaniard shall keep the field, as he cannot impede this work, so 
neither will he be able to attack anything towards France with a 
possibility of retreat. And what do all delays signify but even 
this : The giving the Spaniard opportvinity so much the more to 
reinforce himself; and the keeping our men another summer to 
serve the French, without any colom' of a reciprocal, or any, 
advantage to ourselves ! 

And therefore if this will not be listened unto, I desire that 

things may be considered-of to give us satisfaction for the great 

expense we have been at with our Naval forces and otherwise ; 

which out of an honourable and honest aim on onr part hath been 

5* 



86 ENGLISH LETTEB8. [1450-1600 

incurred, thereby to answer the Engagements we had made. And, 
in fine. That consideration may be had how oiir Men may be put 
into a position to be returned to us ; — whom we hope we shall 
employ to a better purpose than to have them continue where 
they are. 

I desire we may know what France saith, and will do, upon 
this point. We shall be ready still, as the Lord shall assist us, to 
perform what can be reasonably expected on our part. And you 
may also let the Cardinal know farther. That our intentions, as 
they have been, will be to do all the good offices we can to promote 
the Interest common to us. 

Apprehendiug it is of moment that this Business should come 
to you with speed and surety, we have sent it by an Express. 



LXIII. 

Oliver Cromwell to Sir William Lochhart, our Ambassador in 
France. 

Whitehall : Aug. bl, 1657. 

Sir, — We desire, having written to you as we have, that 
the design be Dunkirh rather than Gravelines ; and much more 
that it be : — but one of them rather than fail. We shall not be 
wanting. To send over, at the French charge. Two of our old regi- 
ments, and Two-thousand foot more, if need be, — if Dunkirk be 
the design. Believing that if the Army be well entrenched, and if 
La Ferte's Foot be added to it, we shall be able to give liberty to 
the greatest part of the French Cavalry to have an eye to the 
Spaniard, — leaving but convenient numbers to stand by the Foot. 

And because this action will probably divert the Spaniard 
from assisting Charles Stuart in any attempt upon us, you may be 
assured that, if reality may with any reason be expected from the 
French, we shall do all reason on our part. But if indeed the 
French be so false to us as that they would not have us have any 
footing on that side the Water, — then I desire, as in our other 
Letter to you, that all things may be done in order to the giving 
us satisfaction for our expense incurred, and to the drawing-off of 
our men. And truly, Sir, I desire you to take boldness and free- 
dom to yourself in your dealing with the French on these 
accounts. 



SECTION II. 

A.D. 1600-1700. 



LX17. 

Charles I. in tlie year 1646 was about to meet proposals 
from the London Parliament by sanctioning a trial of Presbyte- 
rian Government for three years, and surrendering the command 
of the Militia for ten years, when he received this ill-timed check 
to what would probably have been a partial reconciliation with 
his vigorous antagonists. 

Queen Henrietta Maria to Charles I. 

Paris: Dec. 14, 1646. 
This day I received yours of the 21, to which, being streigh- 
tened in tyme, I shall answer in English that it may be soonest 
put into cypher. In the first place you conclude right, that 
nothing but the abundance of my love could make me take upon 
me the harsher part of pressing things which are inacceptable to 
you. But where I find your interest so much concerned as it is 
in your present resolution, I should be faultier than you if I 
would suffer you to rest in such an error as would prove fatal to 
you. Therefore you may safely believe, that no duty which I 
perform to you is accompanied with more kindness than when I 
oppose those opinions. I acknowledge that mistakes are the 
grounds of our difierences in opinion, otherwise you would not so 
confidently think that your answer to the propositions sent me 
last week grants nothing about the militia but according to the 
advice you have had from hence. Therein I shall refer you to the 
duplicate herewith sent you, to which I will only add my desires 
that you will carefully compare the draught sent you from hence 
with the other ; and then you will find to what purpose the pre- 
amble serves, and what care there was taken here to make it and 
the grant to persons of trust to be of a piece. If your message be 
not gone there is no hurt done ; if it be, get off from this rock as 
well as you can, according to the advice in those duplicates, and to 
your resolution exj)ressed in your letter, not to admit any copart- 
ners therein. Touching the pulpits and Presbyterian government, 



90 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

&c. I will not any more enter into dispute with you, finding that 
arguments of that nature have neither done you nor your business 
any good ; only I may conclude that if your offer shall not satisfy 
the Presbyterians, whom you desire to make yours, you must begin 
again, or leave the work undone. Neither can you expect this 
your subtility in reserving the last determination, after three 
years, to you and the two houses will do the feat ; no, they with 
whom you have to do will be cunning enough to put you to ex- 
plain yourself. I shall rest confidently upon your resolution now 
expressed touching your friends, because you sufiiciently know 
how much your honour and justice, as well as policy, is in the 
case. All I desire therein is, that you recede not from your de- 
mand of a general act of oblivion, for nothing less can secure you 
and them. The lyke was done to you in Scotland ; which will be 
a general precedent here. For the Covenant, you know my 
opinion ; after the entire consideration of it, we both fully agree 
therein; neither as we are advertised from London, will it })e 
stifly insisted upon there ; yet possibly if the Scots shall prevail, 
and that only difference were in the case, they may consent to 
such alterations in it as may satisfy all of us, and confirm such a 
conjunction as you ought to desire. Therefore I again desire you, 
upon conference with Will. Murray, or otherwise, to use your ut- 
most endeavours that some [per]sons may be admitted to come 
privately to you and the Scots, to see upon a full debate with 
them if all things may not be reconciled to your and their satis- 
faction. If they would consent to such a meeting, I would have 
some hopes of good success : for the present there appears to be 
poison in the pot ; do not trust to your own cooking of it. 

For the proposition to Bellievre, I hate it. If any such thing 
should be made public, you are undone; your enemies will 
make a malicious use of it. Be sure you never own it 
again in any discourse, otherwise than as intended as a foile 
or an hyperbole, or any otherways except in sober earnest. 
Consider well what I have written of; away [with] your mes- 
sage presently without sharing the Militia and abandoning 
Ireland. Strike out the 10 years out of the clause concerning 
offices, or the clause itself, which you will ; it may be a.dded in 
the close, and the naming 10 years implies that this parliament 
should sit so long ; obtain the admitting of persons, and then we 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 91 

shall agree in the whole business ; neither shall I then despair of 
seeing you again with comfort, which is the fullest happiness I 
wish for in this world. A Dleu, mon cher cceur ! 



LXV. 

This is the reply to the foregoing mandate. The King's 
weak suhmission to the taunts and imperious counsels of his 
exiled Queen brought about his ruin. For his obedience to her 
injunctions against making necessary concessions he was made 
a prisoner in the hands of the English Parliament. 

Charles I. to Queen Henrietta Maria. 

Newcastle : Dec. 12 and 19, 1646. 

Dear Heart, — I have not received any letters, or news from 
thee, this last week, of which I do not complain, for, as I have not 
missed one week since I wrote first from hence, and I know that 
thou hast been several times two weeks without receiving any of 
mine, so I believe thou hast taken the pains, albeit I want the 
comfort of hearing from thee. 

My return from Scotland is, that my intended answer to Lon- 
don is absolutely disliked and disapproved there ; the main reasons 
are, that I am not found altered in my conscience, and that I will 
not authorize the covenant, without which (I tell the very words) 
all that can be ofiered will not satisfy : yet, for their personal 
duty, I have much assurance from duke Hamilton and earl of 
Lanerick. 

If they make good what is promised in their name (and I will 
put them to it), my game will be far from desperate, but, having 
little belief that these men will do as they say, I will not trouble 
thee with particulars, until I give thee some more evidence than 
words of their realities. 

December 19. 

When I had written thus far, I was desirous to stay for thy 
answer to my letter of the 14th of Nov, thereby the better to 
make my message to London, the which not receiving before 
Wednesday, it made me spare one week's writing to thee, which I 
hope you will easily excuse, since it is the first. Nor shall I now 
make a particular answer to thine of the 11th and 14th of Decem- 
ber, albeit it may be thou wilt think it full enough, for this assures 



92 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

thee that my intended answer to the London propositions is not 
gone, and that I have sent another message (the copy of which the 
queen will receive by the French ambassadour), the substance 
whereof is to adhere to my former answer, made the first [tenth X] 
of August last ; so that all thy fears concerning the militia are 
saved, wherein, I confess, I thought not I had fundamentally erred, 
notwithstanding that the particular possession were (for the pre- 
fixt time) in the two houses, when I kept the return entire to the 
crown without associates, and that I still stuck to my right, which 
I did by the preamble, for I did, and yet do, conceive that the 
temporary power of managing it is merely circumstantial, and not 
material. But I have done, and willingly yield the argument, 
when the question is of holding fast, and shall only wish that all 
those whose advice the queen takes in business be but as constant 
to foundations, and as little apt to be couzened or frighted out of 
them, as I shall be. For those that make thee believe any altera- 
tion can make the covenant passable can stick at nothing, and 
excuse me to tell thee that whatsoever gives thee that advice is 
either fool or knave; for this damned covenant is the child of 
rebellion,^ and breaths nothing but treason, so that if episcopacy 
were to be introduced by the covenant, I would not do it, because 
I am as much bound in conscience to do no act to the destruction 
of monarchy as to resist heresy, all actions being unlawful (let the 
end be never so just) where the means is not lawful. 

I conclude this, conjuring thee never to abandon one particular 
good friend of ours, which is a good cause, be the Scots never so 
false, even as thou lovest him who is eternally thine, 

Charles R. 

By the next I will give thee a full account why I could not 
send my particular answer to London, and, I believe also, what 
may be expected from Scotland. 

No security can be had for any to come to me from thee. 

* The Solemn Leao'ue and Covenant. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 93 



LXVI. 

The complement of Charles I.'s disaster at the hattle of 
Nasehy was the disclosure of the ' Glamorgan Treaty.' The Earl 
of Glamorgan was instructed to negotiate for the abolition of 
all penal laws against the Roman Catholics in Ireland, and for 
the sui'render to them of their ecclesiastical supremacy in yiew 
of releasing all troops maintained in that country for the defence 
of Protestantism, that they might combine with a foreign sol- 
diery in an attempt to crush the Parliamentarians. When 
Royalist and Roundhead alike censured this treachery Charles 
indirectly repudiated the transaction. 

Charles 1. to Queen Henrietta Maria, 

Oxford: 1646. 

.Dear Heart, — "Whatsoever may make thee mistake my actions, 
yet nothing can make me doubt of thy love, nor alter my way of 
kindness and freedom to thee, notwithstanding any variation of 
the [thy ?] style to me, and I am most confident that wpon second 
thoughts thou wilt be very fai from blaming me, as concerning 
the Scotch treaty ; my main ground — which is the saving of the 
church wherein I have been bred — being so infallibly good, that 
thou must commend me for it. Albeit we difier in matter of 
religion, yet thou must esteem me for having care of my con- 
science. 

Concerning which, the preservation of the Church of England 
being now the only question, I should think myself obliged to seek 
out all possible lawful means for maintaining it. Wherefore, re- 
membering what I wrote to thee last year, upon the 5th of March, 
by Pooly — (thou wilt find it amongst those letters of thine which 
the rebels have printed) — I think it at this time fit to renew that 
motion unto thee. My words were then (which still I will make 
good) that I give thee power to promise in my name (to whom 
thou thinkest most fit) that ' I will take away all the penal laws 
against the Roman Catholics in England, as soon as God shall 
enable me to do it, so as by their means I may have so powerful 
assistance as may deserve so great a favour, and enable me to do 
it.' And furthermore, I now add that I desire some particular 
offers by or in the favour of the English Roman Catholics, which, 
if I shall like, I will then presently engage myself for the perfor- 
mance of the above-mentioned conditions. Moreover, if the Pope 



U ENGLISH LETTERS. ^ [1600- 

and they \Yill visibly and heartily engage themselves for the re- 
establishment of the Church of England and my crown (which 
was nndei'stood in my former offer) against all opposers whatso- 
ever, I will promise them, on the word of a king, to give them 
here a free toleration of their consciences. I have now (which 
formerly I did not) named the Pope expressly, to desire thee to 
deal only with him or his ministers in the business, because I 
believe he is likely upon these conditions to be my friend, and 
wish the flourishing of my crown again, the which I think that 
France nor Spain will be sorry to see. I would have thee like- 
wise make as few acquainted with this as may be, secrecy being 
most requisite in this business (until it be so ripe that the know- 
ledge cannot hurt it), for everybody thinking it be deserted, it 
would much prejudice me if untimely it should break out again. 

Thou mayst possibly imagine that this my renewed offer pro- 
ceeds from my inconstant humour, or out of a desire to please, but 
I assure thee that neither ai-e the causes, though I shall not be 
ashamed of the latter whensoever there is occasion, for in this I 
do only pursue my constant ground, of preserving my conscience 
and crown, not being ignorant of the great inconveniences (not 
without some hazard) which the toleration of divers sorts of God's 
worship bring to a kingdom, which is not to be suffered, but either 
for the eschewing of a worse thing, or to obtain some great good ; — 
both reasons at this time concurring to make me admit, nay desire 
this inconvenience. 

For, by this means, and I see no other, I shall hope to suppress 
the Presbyterian and Independent factions, and also preserve the 
Church of England and my crown from utter ruin, and yet I be- 
lieve I did well IN DISAVOWING Glamorgan {so far as I did) ; for 
though I hold it not simply ill, but even most fit, upon such a con- 
jecture [conjuncture?] as this is, to give a toleration to other men's 
consciences, that cannot make it stand with mine to yield to the 
ruin of those of mine own profession, to which if I had assented, 
it then might have been justly feared, that I, who was careless of 
my own religion, would be less careful of my word. Whereas 
now, men have more reason to trust to my promises, findpng] me 
constant to my grounds, and thou that I am eternally thine, 

Charles K. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 95 

Upon my word, I neither have nor intend to acquaint any 
with this business but Ashburnham, wherefore I desire likeways 
to know of thee whom thou wilt intrust with it, that if anything 
come out we may know whom to blame. Besides, I offer to thy 
consideration, whether it be not fit that all the English Roman 
Catholics be warned by the pope's ministers to join ivith the forces 
that are to come out of Ireland. 



LXVII. 

Edmund Waller's long life was an active one. Dividing 
his time between politics and literature during the most stirring 
period of our history, he managed with singular adroitness to 
make himself extremely popular both* in the House of Com- 
mons and in society. His fame as a refiner of our language 
and poetry was, and is, deservedly great. No man better 
understood the art of flattery and how to administer it with 
grace. 

Edmund Waller to my Lady . 

Madam, — ^Your commands for the gathering these sticks into a 
faggot hid sooner been obey'd but intending to present you with 
my whole vintage, I stay'd till the latest grapes were ripe : for, 
here your Ladyship has not only all I have done, but all I ever 
mean to do of this kind. Not but that I may defend the attempt 
I have made upon Poetry, by the examples (not to trouble you 
with history) of many wise and worthy persons of our own times ; 
as Sir Philip Sidney, Sir Francis Bacon, Cardinal Perron (the 
ablest of his countrymen) and the former Pope ; who they say, 
instead of the Triple-Crown, wore sometimes the Poet's ivy, as an 
ornament, perhaps, of lesser weight and trouble. But, Madam, 
these nightingales sung only in the spring ; it was the diversion 
of their youth ; as Ladies learn to sing, and play, when they 
are children, what they forget when they are women. The re- 
semblance holds further; for, as you quit the lute the sooner, 
because the posture is suspected to draw the body awry ; so, this 
is not always practised without some villany to the mind ; wrest- 
ing it from present occasions ; and accustoming us to a style some- 
what remov'd from common use. But, that you may not think 
his case deplorable who had made verses ; we are told that Tidly 
(the greatest AYit among the Ronians) was once sick of this disease ; 



96 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

and yet recover'd so well, that of almost as bad a Poet as your 
servant, he became the most perfect Orator in the world. So that, 
not so much to have made verses, as not to give-over in time, leaves 
a man without excuse : the former presenting us with an oppor- 
tunity at least of doing wisely, that is, to conceal those we have 
made : which I shall yet do, if my humble request may be of as 
much force with your Ladyship, as your commands have been 
with me. Madam, I only whisper these in your ear ; if you 
publish them, they are your own : and therefore as you appre- 
hend the reproach of a Wit, and a Poet, cast them into the fire : 
or, if they come where green boughs are in the chimney, with the 
help of your fair friends, (for, thus bound, it will be too hard a task 
for your hands alone) tear them in pieces, wherein you will honor 
me with the fate of Orpheus ; for so his Poems, whereof we only 
hear the form, (not his limbs, as the story will have it) I suppose 
were scatter'd by the Thracian dames. 

Here, Madam, I might take an opportunity to celebrate your 
virtues, and to instruct you how unhappy you are, in that you 
know not who you are : how much you excel the most excellent 
of your own, and how much you amaze the least inclin'd to 
wonder of our, sex. But as they will be apt to take your Lady- 
ship's for a Roman name, so wou'd they believe that I endeavour'd 
the character of a perfect Nymph, worship'd an image of my 
own making, and dedicated this to the Lady of the brain, not of 
the heart, of 

Your Ladyship's 

most humble Servant, 

Edm. Waller. 

LXVIII. 

On the occasion of the marriage of Lady Dorothy Sidney, 
whom Waller had- com-ted for ten years under the name of 
Sacharissa, to Lord Spenser, afterwards Earl of Sunderland, 
the disappointed poet addressed this lively epistle to the sister 
of the bride. This letter is incomparably superior to one 
written by Pope to Mrs. Arabella Termor on her marriage. 

Edmund Waller to Lady Lucy Sidney. 

July, 1630. 

Madam, — In this common joy at Penshurst, I know none to 
whom complaints may come less unseasonably than to your lady- 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 97 

ship, the loss of a bedfellow being almost equal to the loss of a 
mistress, and therefore you ought, at least to pardon, if you con- 
sent not to the imprecations of the deserted, which just heaven no 
doubt will hear. May my lady Dorothy, if we may yet call her 
so, suffer as much and have the like passion for this young lord, 
whom she has preferred to the rest of mankind, as others have had 
for her ; and may his love, before the year go about, make her taste 
of the first curse imposed upon womankind, the pain of becoming 
a mother. May her firstborn be none of her own sex, nor so like 
her, but that he may resemble her lord as much as herself. May 
she, that always affected silence and retirement, have the house 
filled with the noise and number of her children, and hereafter of 
her grandchildren, and then may she arrive at that great curse, so 
much declined by fair ladies, old age ; may she live to be very old, 
and yet seem j^oung, be told so by her glass, and have no aches to 
inform her of the truth ; and when she shall appear to be mortal, 
may her lord not mourn for her, but go hand in hand with her to 
that place, where we are told there is neither marrying, nor giving 
in marriage, so that being there divorced, we may all have an 
equal interest in her again ! My revenge being immortal, I wish 
all this may befall her posterity to the world's end, and after- 
wards ! To you, madam, I wish all good things, and that this 
your loss may in good time be happily supplied. Madam, 1 
humbly kiss your hands, and beg pardon for this trouble, from 

Your ladyship's 

most humble Servant 

E. Waller. 



LXIX. 

Sir John Suckling to 



Suckling commanded a troop in the English army of 
Charles I. against the Scotch. This letter was written from 
Berwiek-on-Tweed shortly before the humiliating retreat of 
Dimse. 

June, 1639. 
Sir, — "We are at length arrived at that river about the uneven 
running of which my friend Master William Shakespeare makes 
Henry Hotspur quarrel so highly with his fellow-rebels, and for 



98 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

his sake I have been something curious to consider the scantlet of 
ground that angry monsieur would have had in, but cannot find it 
could deserve his choler, nor any of the other side ours, did not the 
king think it did. The account I shall now give you of the war 
will be but imperfect, since I conceive it to be in the state that 
part of the four and twenty hours is, in which we can neither call 
it night nor day. I should judge it dawning towards earnest, did 
not the Lords' Covananters' letters to our Lords hero something 
divide me. So, sir, you may now imagine us walking up and 
down the banks of the Tweed like the Tower lions in their cages, 
leaving tlie people to think what we would do if we were let loose. 
The enemy is not yet much visible. It may be it is the fault of 
the climate, which brings men as slowly forward as plants ; but it 
gives us fears that the men of peace will draw all this to a dumb- 
show, and so destroy a handsome opportunity, which was now 
offered, of producing glorious matter for futme chronicle. 

These are but conjectures, sir. The last part of my letter I re- 
serve for a great and known truth, which is, that I am, sir, your 
most humble servant, 

J. S. 



LXX. 

Appointed hy the Coimcil of State in 1649 as Secretary for 
Foreign Tongues to the Commonwealth, Milton found himself 
overpowered with business at the very moment when his eye- 
sight, long threatened with blindness, became finally extin- 
guished. In 1650 he lost his right eye, and the controversy 
with Salmasius cost him his left. Unwilling to give up his 
post of danger at such a troublous time, his growing infirmity 
forced him to ask for the help of an amanuensis, and in the fol- 
lowing terms he suggested as his assistant a young poet of 
rising reputation, a Puritan like himself, and favourably recom- 
mended to him by the friendly family of Fairfax. 

John Milton to John Bradshaw. 

February 21, 1652. 
My Lord, — But that it would be an interruption to the public, 
wherein your studies are perpetually employed, I should now and 
then venture to supply thus my enforced absence with a line or 
two, though it were only of businesse, and that would be noe slight 
one, to make mv due acknowledgments of your many favours : 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 99 

which I both, doe at this time, and ever, shall : and have this 
farder, which I thought my parte to let you know of, that there 
will he with you to-morrow, upon some occasion of business, a 
gentleman whose name is Mr. Marvile; a man whom, both by 
report, and the converse I have had with him, of singular desert 
for the State to make use of; who alsoe offers himselfe, if there be 
any employment for him. His father was the Minister of Hull ; 
and he hath spent four years already in ■ Holland, France, Italy, 
and Spaine, to very good purpose, as I believe, and the gaineing of 
those four languages ; besides, he is a sch oiler, and well read in the 
Latin and Greek authors ; and no doubt of an approved conver- 
sation, for he comes now lately out of the house of the Lord Fair- 
fax, who was a Generall, v/here he was intrusted to give some 
instructions in the languages to the Lady, his daughter. If upon 
the death of Mr. Weckerlyn, the Councell shall think that I shall 
need any assistance in the performance of my place (though for my 
part I find no encumbrances of that which belongs to me, except 
it be in point of attendance at Conferences with Ambassadors, 
which I must confess in my condition I am not fit for), it would 
be hard for them to find a man soe fit every way for that purpose 
as this gentleman ; one who, I believe, in a short time, would be 
able to do them as much service as Mr. Ascan. This, my lord, 
I write sincerely, without any other end than to perform my duty 
to the publick, and helping them to an humble servant : laying- 
aside those jealousies, and that emulation, which mine own con- 
dition must suggest to me, by bringing in such a coadjutor ; and 
remaine, my lord, 

Your most obliged and faithful servant, 

John Milton. 

LXXL 

The following examples of the epistolary style of Edward 
Hyde, Earl of Olarendon, are selected from the State Papers 
hearing his name. In this first short note there are two points 
not unworthy of notice. The oft-repeated charge of the critics 
that he embarrasses his sentences with frequent parentheses is 
brought home to him ; and the want of accuracy in the details 
of ' The History of the Rebellion ' is indirectly explained by the 
imavoidahle necessity of acquiring information at second-hand 
and on mere hearsay evidence. 



100 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 



Sir Edvmrd Hyde to Lord Wifherington. 

Jersey : August 5, 1646. 
My good Lord, — Being now left to leisure eno' to exercise my 
own thoughts and it being much easier to revolve what is passed 
than to foresee what is to come, (tho' I fear there is no notable 
sharpsigbtedness requisite even to that) I have prevailed with 
myself, how unequal soever to the task, to endeavour the com- 
piling a plain, faithful narrative of the proceedings of these last ill 
years ; that so posterity may see, by what fatal degrees, that 
wickedness hath grown prosperous which I hope is now at its 
height. I have not been at too immoderate a distance (if that were 
qualification enough) from the public agitations, to venture upon 
this relation; yet the scene of action lying in so many several 
peaces, a much wiser and more conversant person than myself 
must desist from this work, except others assist him by communi- 
cating what hath been transacted in their several spheres. Your 
Lordship hnth had a noble part in those attempts which have been 
made to rescue our miserable country from the tyranny- she now 
groans under ; and by the happiness you enjoy in the friendship of 
that excellent person (whose conduct was never unprosperous) 
well known by what skill and virtue the north of England was 
recovered to his Majesty, and with what difficulties defended. And 
if you find that his Lordship himself may not be prevailed with to 
adorn those actions with his own incomparable style, (which indeed 
would render them fit to be bound up with the other commentaries) 
vouchsafe I beseech your Lordship, that by your means I may be 
trusted with such counsels and occurrences as you shall judge fit 
to be submitted to the ill apparel I shall be able to supply them 
with ; which I will take care (how simple soever) shall not defraud 
them of their due integrity which will be ornament enough. What 
your Lordship thinks fit to oblige me with of this kind, Mr. Nicholls 
will convey to. My Lord, 

Your Lordship's most affectionate and obedient Servant 

Edward Hyde. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 101 

LXXII. 

The staimcliest and most self-denjang friend of CbarlesIJ. 
during his period of exile and almost abject poverty, misjudged 
the state of affairs in June, 1659, as well as the character of his 
royal debtor ; for the cause of Monarchy could only haye suffered 
by a show of force at the moment the Rump and the army 
were caballing oyer the graye of Oliyer Cromwell. And in so 
confidently extolling the gratitude of his chief, Edward Hyde 
little thought he would be an early yictim to the caprice of an 
indolent king who had no belief in human virtues, and to whom, 
as Lord Macaulay puts it, ^ honour and shame were as light and 
darkness to the blind.' 

Edward Hyde, Earl of Clarendon to Mr. Mordaunt. 

June 13, 1659. 

Sir, — It is indeed great pity that we here, and our friends 
there, have not been better prepared to appear in arms upon these 
great mutations which have lately happened. But methinks I do 
not see anything yet done to make us despair of the like oppor- 
tunities, nor do I conceive that we have at present one friend less 
or one enemy more than we had two months ago. It is possible 
all men's hopes and fears are not the same they were ; but these 
ebbs and flows will happen upon every wind ; nor do I think that 
the Army and the Parliament will the sooner agree upon a 
Government because they are out of apprehension of the Crom- 
wells, nor that their tameness and desertion of spirit will find the 
greater remorse. Now is the time for the Parliament to raise 
monuments of their justice and severity for the future terror of 
those whose ambition may dispose them to break their trusts (and 
I hope you are not without good instruments to kindle that fire), 
and I cannot believe it possible that the Aj^my and Parliament 
can continue long of a mind. I suppose a list of the names of all 
the Parliament men is in print, which I would be very glad to 
see, as I would to know whether you continue to have the same 
good opinion still of Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, and whether he 
received the King's letter. 

I have seen a letter from M'^ Baron to the Secretary, by which 
I perceive there remains some jealousies and distances between our 
friends, which I hope proceed rather from misunderstanding than 
from any formed waywardness, and that the interposition of dis- 
creet persons will qualify all, and extinguish those distempers. 



102 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

We have yet heard from none of them, and you may be very con- 
fident that the King will not gratify any man's passions by the 
disobliging others who serve him faithfully, and I have so good 
an opinion of them to believe they cannot propose any extravagant 
thing. I have no more to add but that I am very faithfully 

Yours &c. 



LXXIII. 

The feverish condition of the public pulse, sickened by the 
dominion of the soldiery and excited by the trickeries of incom- 
petent agitators, is here gleefully described by Lord Clarendon 
on the eve of the restoration of monarchy. 

Edward Hyde^ Earl of Clarendon, to Sir Henry Bennet. 

April 10, 1660. 

Sir, — The Parliament was, as you have heard, to be dissolved 
upon Thursday the 15th of last month, but there had been so 
many artifices used by the Kepubhcan party, to stay the business 
of the Militia, and afterwards to stop and corrupt it at the Press 
that the house resolved to sit again the next day, and then about 
seven o'clock at night they dissolved to the universal joy of all the 
kingdom, the republican party only excepted, who had no mind 
to cashier themselves of a power they were like again never to 
be possessed of ; the people not being like to choose many of them 
to serve in the next parliament. 

Before they dissolved they declared the engagement, by which 
men were bound to submit to the government without King or 
House of Lords, to be void and null, and to be taken of the file 
of all records wherever it was entered ; and this might be the 
ground of that report at Calais, that they had voted the Govern- 
ment to be by King, Lords and Commons ; besides there was a 
pretty accident that might contribute thereunto, for the day before 
the Parliament dissolved, at full Exchange, there came a fellow 
with a ladder upon his shoulders and a pot of paint in his hand, 
and set the ladder in the place where the last King's statue had 
stood, and then went up and wiped out that inscription which 
had been made after the death of the King, Exit Tyr annus <&c., 
and as soon as he had done it threw up his cap and cried ' God 
bless King Charles the Second,' in which the whole Exchange 
joined with the greatest shout you can imagine, and immediately 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 103 

caused a huge bonfire to be made which the neighbours of Cornhill 
and Cheapside imitated with three or four more, and so that action 
passed nor do I find there was any order for it. There was another 
signal passage likewise before the dissolution : upon the reading 
the instructions to the Council of State dming the interval of 
Parliament (which is not to sit till the 25th of this month) there is 
one which gives them authority to send agents or ambassadors to 
foreign Princes, whereupon Scott stood up and desired that there 
might be an exception, that they should not send to Charles Stuart, 
whir h gave occasion to very many members of the House to stand 
up and declare that they were in no degi'ee guilty and did from 
their souls abhor the horrid and odious mui-der of the late king, 
and did detest the author of it. Upon which Scott again stood 
up, and said that he indeed, and some others, had cut off the King's 
head, but that the other gentlemen had brought him to the block, 
which put the rest into so much passion that they would call him 
to the bar, but after some heat declined it, saying he should answer 
it at another bar. The writs issued out the next day for the 
choosing members to meet the 25th of this month ; and very great 
care is taken in all places to choose such men as are most like to 
settle the government as it ought to be. And now after I have 
told you all this, if I had not a very ill reputation with you for 
being over sanguine with reference to England, I will tell you that 
I hope we may save those honest gentlemen a labour, or at least 
do our own business with very great approbation. 

Yours &c. 

- LXXIV. 

The flames that consumed the Custom House aud all the 
valuable records deposited there (1814), deprived the lovers of 
literature of Jeremy Taylor's autobiography, and most of his 
epistolary correspondence. The letters that have been preserved 
are not, perhaps, the best examples of those prose writings, 
■ which by their purity and beauty of expression gave to the 
improved style of the seventeenth century almost its earliest 
impetus ; still they are good unstudied specimens of the great 
divine's manner. An ardent Royalist, he followed the fortunes 
of Charles I. as Chaplain to the Royal armj' in 1642, but was 
obliged to retire as a schoolmaster to Wales when the fortune 
of war favoured the Parliamentarians. John Evelyn, his 
greatest benefactor, induced him to leave this retreat and visit 
Sayes Court. The following letter was written a few days after 
he had been entertained there. 



104 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

Jeremy Taylor to John Evelyn. 

April 16, 1656. 

Honoured and dear Sir, — I hope your servant brought my 
apology with him, and that I already am pardoned, or excused, in 
your thoughts, that I did not return an answer yesterday to your 
friendly letter. S'', I did believe myself so very much bound to you 
for your so kind, so friendly reception of me in your ' Tusculanum,' 
that I had some little wonder upon me when I saw you making 
excuses that it was no better. S'', I came to see you and your 
lady, and am highly pleased that I did so, and found all your cir- 
cumstances to be an heap and union of blessings. But I have not 
either so great a fancy and opinion of the prettiness of your abode, 
or so low an opinion of your prudence and piety, as to think you 
can be any ways transported with them. I know the pleasure of 
them is gone ofi' from their height before one month's possession ; 
and that strangers, and seldom seers, feel the beauty of them more 
than you who dwell with them. I am pleased, indeed, at the 
order and the cleanness of all your outward things ', and look upon 
you not only as a person, by way of thankfulness to God for his 
mercies and goodness to you, specially obliged to a greater measure 
of piety, but also as one who, being freed in great degTees from 
secular cares and impediments, can, without excuse and alloy, 
wholly intend what you so passionately desire, the service of God. 
But now I am considering yours and enumerating my own 
pleasures, I cannot but add that, though I could not choose but 
be delighted by seeing all about you, yet my delices were really in 
seeing you severe and unconcerned in these things, and now in 
finding your affections wholly a stranger to them, and to com- 
municate with them no portion of your passion but such as is 
necessary to him that uses them or receives their ministries. 

S"*, I long truly to converse with you ; for I do not doubt but 
in those liberties w^e shall both go bettered from each other. For 
your ' Lucretius,' I perceive, you have suffered the importunity of 
two kind friends to prevail with you. I will not say to you that 
your ' Lucretius ' is as far distant from the severity of a Christian 
as the fair Ethiopian was from the duty of Bp. Heliodorus ; for 
indeed it is nothing but what may become the labour of a Christian 
gentleman, those things only abated which our evil age needs not; 



1700] ENGLISH ZETTEBX 105 

for which, also I hope yon either have by notes, or will, by preface, 
prepare a sufficient antidote, but since you are ingag'd in it, do not 
neglect to adorn it, and take what care of it it can require or need ; 
for that neglect will be a reproof of your own act, and look as if 
you did it with an unsatisfied mind, and then you may make that 
to be wholly a sin, from which only by prudence and charity you 
could before be advised to abstain. But, S^, if you will give me 
leave, I will impose such a penance upon you for your publication 
of ' Lucretius,' as shall neither displease God nor you ; and since 
you are busy in that which may minister directly to learning and 
indirectly to error or the confidences of men, who of themselves 
are apt enough to hide their vices in irreligion, I know you will 
be willing, and will sufifer yourself to be intreated, to employ the 
same pen in the glorifications of God, and the ministeries of 
eucharist and prayer. S^ if you have Ms^-' Silhon 'de I'lmmor- 
talite de I'Ame,' I desire you to lend it me for a week ; and be- 
lieve that I am in great heartiness and dearness of affection, dear 
S'', your obliged and most affectionate friend and servant, 

Jer. Taylor. 



LXXV. 

A letter of condolence with John Evelyn upon the loss of 
his children. 

Jeremy Taylor to John Evelyn. 

February 17, 1657. 

Dear Sir, — If dividing and sharing griefs were like the cutting 

of rivers, I dare say to you, you would find your stream much 

abated ; for I account myself to have a great cause of sorrow, not 

only in the diminution of the numbers of your joys and hopes, but 

in the loss of that pretty person, your strangely hopeful boy. I 

cannot tell all my own sorrows without adding to yours ; and the 

causes of my real sadness in your loss are so just and so reasonable, 

that I can no otherwise comfort you but by telling you, that you 

have very great cause to mourn ; so certain it is that grief does 

propagate as fire does. You have enkindled my funeral torch 

and by joining mine to yours, I do but encrease the flame. ' Hoc 

me mal^ urit,' is the best signification of my apprehension of your 

sad story. But sir, I cannot choose, but I must hold another and 



106 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

a brighter flame to you, it is already burning in your heart ; and 
if I can but remove the dark side of the lantern, you have enough 
within you to warm yourself and to shine to others. Kemember, 
sir, your two boys are two bright stars, and their innocence is se- 
cured, and you shall never hear evil of them again. Their state is 
safe, and heaven is given to them upon very easy terms ; nothing 
but to be born and die. It will cost you more trouble to get 
where they are ; and amongst other things one of the [hardness] 
will be, that you must overcome even this just and reasonable 
grief; and, indeed though the grief hath but too reasonable a 
cause, yet it is much more reasonable that you master it. For be- 
sides that they are no losers but you are the person that complains, 
do but consider what you would have suffer 'd for their interest : 
you [would] have suffered them to go from you, to be great princes 
in a strange country : and if you can be content to suffer your own 
inconvenience for their interest, you command [commend?] your 
worthiest love, and the question of mourning is at an end. But 
you have said and done well, when you look upon it as a rod of 
God ; and he that so smites here will spare hereafter : and if you, 
by patience, and submission, imprint the discipline upon your own 
flesh, you kill the cause, and make the effect very tolerable ; be- 
cause it is, in some sense chosen, and therefore in no sense insuffer- 
able. 

Sir, if you do not look to it, time will snatch your honour 
from you, and reproach you for not effecting that by Christian 
philosophy which time will do alone. And if you consider, that 
of the bravest men in the world we find the seldomest stories of 
their children, and the apostles had none, and thousands of the 
worthiest persons, that sound most in story, died childless; you 
will find it is a rare act of Providence so to impose upon worthy 
men a necessity of perpetuating their names by worthy actions 
and discourses, governments and reasonings. If the breach be 
never repair'd, it is because God does not see it fit to be ; and if 
you will be of this mind, it will be much the better. But, sir, you 
will pardon my zeal and passion for your comfort, I will readily 
confess that you have no need of any discourse from me to comfort 
you. Sir, now you have an opportunity of serving God by passive 
graces ; strive to be an example and a comfort to your Lady, and 
by your wise counsel and comfort, stand in the breaches of your 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 107 

own family, and make it appear that you are more to her than ten 
sons. Sir, by the assistance of Almighty God, I purpose to wait 
on you some time next week, that I may be a witness of your 
Christian courage and bravery, and that I may see that God never 
displeases you as long as the main stake is preserved — I mean your 
hopes and confidences of heaven. Sir, I shall pray for all that you 
can want — that is, some degrees of comfort and a present mind ; 
and shall always do you honour, and fain also would do you ser- 
vice, if it were in the power, as it is in the afiections and desires 
of 

Dear sir, 
Your most afiectionate and obliged 

friend and servant 

Jer. Taylor. 



LXXVI. 

The experimental philosophical club, which beoran its meet- 
ings at Oxford in 1649 imder the auspices of Dr. AVilkins, was 
the cradle of the Eoyal Society. When the founder came to 
London, the memlers met at the Bull Head Tavern, in Cheap- 
side, and afterwards in Gresham College parlour. In 1662 the 
club was incorporated by the name of the Eoyal Society, but 
continued to assemble in the parlour until the year 1710. Such 
a worthy commimity could not fail, in the early days of Charles 
II.'s reign, to be a conspicuous mark for the clownish ribaldry of 
scribblers whose delight was to ridicule everything virtuous and 
respectable. John Evelyn, one of the most dihgent members of 
the society, here invokes the aid of the once popular poet to 
silence certain malicious cavillers. 

John Evelyn to Ahraham Cowley. 

Saves Court : March 12, 1667. 
Sir, — ^You had reason to be astonished at the presumption, not 
to name it afiront, that I who have so highly celebrated Recess, 
and envied it in others, should become an advocate for the enemy, 
which of all others it abhors and flies from. I conjure you to be- 
lieve that I am still of the same mind and that there is no person 
alive who does more honour and breathe after the life and repose 
you so happily cultivate and adorn by y^ example. But as those 
who praised Dirt, a Flea, and the Gout,^ so have I Puhlick Em- 

' A collection of facetiae in prose and verse. 



108 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

ployment in tbat trifling essay ; and that in so weak a style com- 
pared to my antagonists, as by that alone it will appear I neither 
was nor could be serious ; and I hope you believe I speak my very 
soul to you ; but I have more to say which will require your kind- 
ness. Suppose oui' good friend were publishing some eulogies on 
the Koyal Society, and by deducing the original, progress and ad- 
vantages of their design would bespeak it some veneration in the 
world ? Has Mr. Cowley no inspirations for it % Would it not 
hang the most heroic wreath about his temples ? Or can he desire 
a nobler or a fuller argument either for the softest airs or the 
loudest echoes, for the smoothest or briskest strokes of his Pin- 
daric lyre ? There be those who ask. What have the E-oyal Society 
done 1 Where their College 1 I need not instruct you how to 
answer or confound those persons, who are able to make even 
these inform Blocks and Stones dance into order, and charm them 
into better sense. Or, if their insolence press, you are capable to 
show how they have laid solid foundations to perfect all noble 
Arts, and reform all imperfect Sciences. It requires a History to 
recite only the Arts, the Inventions, the Phenomena already ab- 
solved, improved or opened. In a word our registers have, outdone 
Pliny, Porta and Alexis, and all the experimentists, nay the great 
Yerulam himself, and have made a nobler and more faithful col- 
lection of real secrets, useful and instructive than has hitherto 
been shewn. Sir, we have a Library, a Repository, and an assem- 
bly of as worthy and great persons as the World has any ; and yet 
we are sometimes the subject of satire and the songs of drunken- 
ness ; have a King to our founder and yet want a Maecenas ; and 
above all a spiiit like yours to raise us up benefactors, and to 
compel them to think the designs of the Koyal Society as worthy 
their regards, and as capable to embalm their names, as the most 
heroic enterprise, or any thing Antiquity has celebrated ; and I 
am even amazed at the wretchedness of this age that acknowledges 
it no more. But the Devil, who was ever an enemy to truth, and 
to such as discover his prestigious effects, will never suffer the pro- 
motion of a design so destructive to his dominion, which is to fill 
the world with imposture and keep it in ignorance, without the 
utmost of his malice and contradiction. But you have numbers 
and charms that can bind even these spirits of darkness, and ren- 
der their instruments obsequious ; and we know you have a divine 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 109 

Hymn for us ; the lustre of the Royal Society calls for an ode from 
the best of poets upon the noblest argument. To conclude, here 
you have a field to celebrate the great and the good, who either 
do, or should favour the most august and worthy design that ever 
was set on foot in the world ; and those who are our real patrons 
and friends, you can eternize, those who are not you can conciliate 
and inspire to do gallant things. But I will add no more, when I 
have told you with very great truth, that I am, sir, &c. 



LXXVII. 

The following letter should be especially interesting to the 
possessors of finely-timbered estates. It will refresh their 
memory of the man to whom England is indebted for the 
variety and abundance of her forest and other trees. Besides 
his ' Sylva, or Discourse on the Propagation of Timber,' John 
Evelyn showed himself a worthy successor of Bacon in his love 
of horticulture by publishing the first ' Gardener's Almanac' 
The references to his works on art remind us that he was not 
merely a ^ rural genius.' 

John Evelyn to Lady Sunderland. 

Sayes Court, Deptford : August 4, 1690. 

Madam, — As for the Calendar your Ladyship mentions, what- 
ever assistance it may be to some novice gardener siu-e I am his 
Lordship will find nothing in it worth his notice but an old incli- 
nation to an innocent diversion, and the acceptance that it found 
with my dear (and while he lived) worthy friend Mr. Cowley, 
upon whose reputation only it has survived seven impressions, 
and is now entering on the eighth with some considerable improve- 
ments, more agreeable to the present curiosity. 'Tis now. Madam, 
almost forty years since I writ it, when Horticulture was not much 
advanced in England, and near thirty since first 'twas published, 
which cousideration will I hope excuse its many defects. If in the 
mean time it deserve the name of no unuseful trifle, 'tis all it is 
capable of. 

When many years ago I came from rambling abroad, observed 
a little there, and a great deal more since I came home than gave 
me much satisfaction, and (as events have proved) scarce 4-orth 
one's pursuit, I cast about how I should employ the time which 
hangs on most young men's hands, to the best advantage; and 
6* 



110 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

when books and severer studies grew tedious, and other imper- 
tinence would be pressing, by what innocent diversions I might 
sometimes relieve myself without compliance to recreations I took 
no felicity in, because they did not contribute to any improvements 
of the mind. This set me upon planting of Trees, and brought 
forth my ' Sylva,' which booke, infinitely beyond my expecta- 
tions, is now also calling for a fourth impression, and has been the 
occasion of propagating many millions of useful Timber Trees 
throughout this Nation, as I may justify (without immodesty) 
from the many letters of acknowledgment received from gentlemen 
of the first quality, and others altogether strangers to me. His 
late Majesty Charles II. was sometimes graciously pleased to take 
notice of it to me, and that I had by that booke alone incited a 
world of planters to repair their broken estates and woods, which 
the greedy Rebels had wasted and made such havoc of. Upon 
this encouragement I was once speaking to a mighty man, then in 
despotic power, to mention the great inclination I had to serve his 
Majesty in a little office then newly vacant (the salary I think 
hardly ^300) whose province was to inspect the Timber Trees in 
His Majesty's forests, &c., and take care of their culture and im- 
provement ; but this was conferred upon another, who, I believe 
had seldom been out of the smoke of London, where tho' there was 
a great deal of timber there were not many trees. I confess I had 
an inclination to the employment upon a public account as well 
as its being suitable to my rural genius, born as I was at ^Votton 
among the Woods. 

Soon after this, happened the direful conflagration of this City, 
when taking notice of our want of books of Architecture in the 
English tongue, I published those most useful directions of ten of 
the best authors on that subject, whose works were very rarely to 
be had, all of them written in French, Latin or Italian and so not 
intelligible to our mechanics. What the fruit of that labour and 
cost has been (for the sculptures which are elegant were very 
chargeable) the great improvement of our workmen, and several 
impressions of the copy since, will best testify. 

In this method I thought properly to begia with planting trees, 
because they would require time for growth and be advancing to 
delight and shade at least, and were therefore by no means to be 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. Ill 

neglected and deferred, while building might be raised and finished 
in a summer if the owner pleased. 

Thus, Madam, I endeavoured to do my countrymen some little 
service, in as natural an order as I could for the improving and 
adorning their estates and dwellings, and if possible, make them 
in love with those useful and innocent pleasures in exchange of a 
wasteful and ignoble sloth which I had observed so universally 
corrupted an ingenious education. 

To these I likewise added my little History of Chalcography, 
a treatise of the perfection of PaintiQg, and of erecting Libraries 
.... Medals, and some other intermesses which might divert 
within doors, as well as altogether without. 



LXXVIII. 

At the Restoration the poet Marvell, hitherto known as the 
colleague and friend of Milton, was returned to Parliament for 
the borough of Hull, and at once developed a pohey so original 
and courageous that his name has become almost synonymous 
with the title of patriot. His private letters to his friends 
during the eariy years of Charles II.'s reign are unique in the 
picture they give of the dark side of the times. 

Several valuable letters were written by Marvell to one 
William Skinner, who had not the curiosity to keep any of them, 
but gave them to the pastry-maid to put under pie-bottoms. — 
(Thoresby Correspondence, vol. ii. p. 102.) 

Andrew Marvell to William Ramsden. 

November 28, 1670. 
Dear Will, — I need not tell you I am always thinking of you. 
All that has happened, which is remarkable, since I wrote, is as 
follows. The Lieutenancy of London, chiefly Sterlin the Mayor, 
and Sir J. Robinson, alarmed the King continually with the Con- 
venticles there. So the King sent them strict and large powers. 
The Duke of York every Sunday would come over thence to look 
to the peace. To say truth, they met in numerous open assemblys, 
without any dread of government. But the train bands in the 
city, and soldiery in Southwark and suburbs, harassed and abused 
them continually; they wounded many, and killed some Quakers 
especially, while they took all patiently. Hence arose two things 
of great remark. The Lieutenancy, having got orders to their 
mind, pick out Hays and Jekill, the innocentest of the whole 



112 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

party, to show their power on. They offer them illegal bonds of 
five thousand pounds a man, which if they would not enter into, 
they must go to prison. So they were committed, and at last (but 
it is a very long story) got free. Some friends engaged for them. 
The other was the tryal of Pen and Mead, quakers, at the Old 
Baily. The jury not finding them guilty, as the Recorder and 
Mayor would have had them, they were kept without meat or 
drink some three days, till almost starved, but would not alter 
their verdict; so fined and imprisoned.^ There is a book out 
which relates all the passages, which were very pertinent, of the 
prisoners, but prodigiously barbarous by the Mayor and Recorder. 
The Recorder, among the rest, commended the Sjoanish Inquisi- 
tion, saying it would never be well till we had something like it. 
The King had occasion for sixty thousand pounds. Sent to bor- 
row it of the city. Sterlin, Robinson, and all the rest of that 
faction, were at it many a week, and could not get above ten 
thousand. The fanatics under persecution, served his Majesty. 
The other part, both in court and city, would have prevented it. 
But the King protested money would be acceptable. So the King 
patched up, out of the Chamber, and other ways, twenty thousand 
pounds. The fanatics, of all sorts, forty thousand. The King, 
though against many of his council, would have the Parliament 
sit this twenty-fourth of October. He, and the Keeper spoke of 
nothing but to have money. Some one million three hundred 
thousand pounds, to pay off the debts at interest; and eight 
hundred thousands for a brave navy next Spring. ^ 

Both speeches forbid to be printed, for the King said very 
little, and the Keeper, it was thought, too much in his politic 
simple discourse of foreign affairs. The House was thin and 
obsequious. They Voted at first they would supply him, according 
to his occasions, Remive, as it was remarked, contradicente ; but 
few affirmatives, rather a silence as of men ashamed and un- 
willing. 

Sir R. Howard, Seymour, Temple, Car, and Hollis, openly 
took leave of their former party, and fell to head the King's 

* The immvinity of jurymen for giving verdicts contrary to the wishes 
of the bench was established at this trial. 

2 Macaulay exposes the fraudulent conduct of the ' Cabal ' Administra- 
tion in raising these 800,000^. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 113 

busyness. There is like to be a terrible Act of Conventicles. 
The Prince of Orange here is much made of. The King owes 
him a great deal of money. The Paper is full. 

I am your's, &c. 

LXXIX. 

Marvell was a model memher of Parliament. He repre- 
sented Hull from 1660 to his death in 1678, and he kept the 
Corporation minutely informed as to the progress of affairs, 
often writing to them, after sitting oat a stormy debate, before 
indulging himself with sleep. His main duty in the House he 
held to be that of opposing the claims of the Royal household, 
and this he did with the utmost resolution, dying a few months 
after the date of this letter, poisoned, as was surmised, at the 
direction of the Court party, whose bribes he had so scornfully 
refused. He writes to his constituency as one whose conscience 
tells him that he has deserved their confidence. 

Andrew Marvell to the Mayor and Aldermen of Hull. 

January 18 [1676-7]. 
Gentlemen, my very worthy friends, — Not having in the iri- 
tervalls of Parliament any frequent or proper occasion of writing 
to you, I am the more carefull, though always retaining the same 
constant due respect and service for you, yet not to interrupt you 
with unnecessary letters. But the time of Parliament's proroga- 
tion being now within a moneth expired, and his JMajesty having 
by his late Proclamation signified that he expects the attendance 
of the members in order to a Session, I cannot neglect to imbrace 
this opportunity of saluting you, and of giving you account that I 
am here in Town in good health, God be praised, and Vigour, ready 
to take that Station in the House of Commons which I obtain by 
your favour, and hath so many years continued ; and therefore I 
desire that you will, now being the time, consider whether there 
be any thing that particularly relates to the state of your town, or 
your neighbouring country, or of your more publick concernment, 
whereof you may thinke fit to advertise me, and therein to give 
me any your instructions, which 1 shall carefully conforme. It is 
true that by reason of so many prorogations of late years repeated, 
the publick business in Parliament hath not attain'd the hoped 
maturity, so that the weight and multiplicity of those aflfairs at 
present will probably much exclude, and retard at least, any thing 



114 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

of more private and particular consideration ; yet, if any such, you 
have, I shall strive to promote it according to the best of my duty, 
and in the more generall concerns of the nation, shall, God willing, 
maintain the same incorrupt mind, and clear conscience, free from 
faction, or selfends, which I have, by His grace, hitherto pre- 
served. So wishing you all health and prosperity, I remain, 
Gentlemen, &c., your most humble servant. 

The ' businesse ' of Trinity House is still to be over-seen, with 
all Yisfilance. 



'&' 



For my much respected friends Mr. Matthew Smith 
and Mr. George Dickinson, Wardens of the Worthy 
Society of y^ Trinity house, Kingston before Hull. 



LXXX. 

Mr. Penruddock was a gentleman of the loyalist party who 
was beheaded by Oromwell's orders in 1655 at Exeter, for his 
share in a rising there. The particulars are given in Clarendon's 
^ History of the Rebellion,' Book 14, ad finem. This letter was 
written by Mrs. Penruddock to her husband the night before his 
execution. 

Mrs. Penruddoch''s last letter to her Husband. 

May 3, 1655. 
My Dear Heart, — My sad parting was so far from making 
me forget you, that I scarce thought upon myself since, but wholly 
upon you. Those dear embraces which I yet feel, and shall never 
lose, being the faithful testimonies of an indulgent husband, have 
charmed my soul to such a reverence of your remembrance, that 
were it possible, I would, with my own blood, cement your dead 
limbs to live again, and (with reverence) think it no sin to rob 
Heaven a little longer of a martyr. Oh ! my dear, you must now 
pardon my passion, this being my last (oh, fatal word !) that ever 
you will receive from me ; and know, that until the last minute 
that I can imagine you shall live, I shall sacrifice the prayers of a 
Christian, and the groans of an afflicted wife. And when you are 
not (which sure by sympathy I shall know), I shall wish my own 
dissolution with you, that so we may go hand in hand to Heaven. 
'Tis too late to tell you what I have, or rather have not done for 
you ; how being turned out of doors because I came to beg mercy ; 
the Lord lay not your blood to their charge. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 115 

I would fain discourse longer with yon, but dare not ; passion 
begins to drown my reason, and will rob me of my devoirs, which 
is all I have left to serve you. Adieu, therefore, ten thousand 
times, my dearest dear ; and since I must never see you more, 
take this prayer, — May your faith be so strengthened that your 
constancy may continue ; and then I know Heaven will receive 
you ; whither grief and love will in a short time (I hope) 
translate, 

My dear. 
Your sad, but constant wife, even to love your ashes when dead, 

Aruxdel Pexruddock. 
May the 3"^*^, 1655, eleven o'clock at night. Your children beg 
your blessing, and present their duties to you. 



LXXXI. 

Mr. Penruddock's last letter to his Wife. 

May, 1655. 
Dearest Best of Creatures ! I had taken leave of the world 
when I received yours : it did at once recall my fondness to life, 
and enable me to resign it. As I am sure I shall leave none be- 
hind me like you, which weakens my resolution to part from you, 
so when I reflect I am going to a place where there are none but 
such as you, I recover my courage. But fondness breaks in upon 
me ; and as I would not have my t^ars flow to-morrow, when your 
husband, and the father of our dear babes, is a public spectacle, do 
not think meanly of me, that I give way to grief now in private, 
when I see my sand run so fast, and within a few hours I am to 
leave you helpless, and exposed to the merciless and insolent that 
have wrongfully put me to a shameless death, and will object the 
shame to my poor children. T thank you for all your goodness to 
me, and will endeavour so to die as to do nothing unworthy that 
vii-tue in which we have mutually supported each other, and for 
which I desii'e you not to repine that I am first to be rewarded, 
since you ever preferred me to yourself in all other things. Aflbrd 
me, with cheerfulness, the precedence of this. I desire your prayers 
in the article of death ; for my own will then be oflered for you 
and yours. 

J. Penruddock. 



116 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 



LXXXII. 

In his ' Curiosities of Literature,' Mr. D'Israeli publishes a 
letter from ' the Thrice Noble, Illustrious^ and Excellent Princess 
Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle/ who was certainly the greatest 
literary curiosity of her age. Her husband, who had borne 
arms for the Royal cause with some success during the civil wars, 
was created a duke at the Restoration. 

He and his duchess afterwards retired to the country to 
devote the remainder of their days to the republic of letters. 
Horace Walpole, in his ' Royal and Noble Authors,' expended a 
good deal of caustic wit on the eccentricities of this aristo- 
cratic pair — ' this picture of foolish nobility.' The work of so 
industrious a couple, had it been rationally pursued^ would proba- 
bly have escaped ridicule ; but since each publicly affected to 
regard the other as the beau ideal of literary ingenuity, and 
as a good deal of their ingenuity was exhibited in a certain con- 
tempt for the laws of style and the rules of grammar, their 
labours were not much appreciated. 

Had her Grace's studies been carefully regulated, she might 
have done good things, as the following sensible letter will show. 

Margarety Duchess of Newcastle, to her Husband, the Duke 
of Newcastle, 

London: 1667. 

Certainly, my Lord, you have had as many enemies and as 
many friends as ever any one particular person had ; nor do I so 
much wonder at it, since I, a woman, cannot be exempt from the 
malice and aspersions of spiteful tongues which they cast upon my 
poor writings, some denying me to be the true authoress of them ; 
for your grace remembers well, that those books I put out first to 
the judgment of this censorious age were accounted not to be 
written by a woman, but that somebody else had writ and pub- 
lished them in my name ; by which your lordship was moved to 
prefix an epistle before one of them in my vindication, wherein 
you assure the world, upon your honour, that what was written 
and printed in my name was my own; and I have also made 
known that your lordship was my only tutor, in declaring to me 
what you had found and observed by your own experience ; for I 
being young when your lordship married me, could not have much 
knowledge of the world ; but it pleased God to command his ser- 
vant Nature to endue me with a poetical and philosophical genius, 
even from my birth ; for I did write some books in that kind be- 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 117 

fore I was twelve years of age, wliich for want of good method 
and order I would never divulge. But though, the world would 
not believe that those conceptions and fancies which I writ were 
my own, but transcended my capacity, yet they found fault, that 
they were defective for want of learning, and on the other side, 
they said I had pluckt feathers out of the universities ; which was 
a very preposterous judgment. I'ruly, my lord, I confess that for 
want of scholarship, I could not express myself so well as other- 
wise I might have done in those philosophical writings I published 
first ; but after I was returned with your lordship into my native 
country, and led a retired country life, I applied myself to the 
reading of philosophical authors, on purpose to learn those names 
and words of art that are used in schools ; which at first were so 
hard to me, that I could not understand them, but was fain to 
guess at the sense of them by the whole context, and so writ them 
down, as I found them in those authors ; at which my readers did 
wonder, and thought it impossible that a woman could have so 
much learning and understanding in terms of art and scholastical 
expressions ; so that I and my books are like the old apologue 
mentioned in -.^sop, of a father and his son who rid on an ass. 
[Here follows a long narrative of this fable, which she applies to 
herself in these words : — ] The old man seeing he could not please 
mankind in any manner, and having received so many blemishes 
and aspersions for the sake of his ass, was at last resolved to drown 
him when he came to the next bridge. But I am not so passionate 
to burn my writings for the various humours of mankind, and for 
their finding fault ; since there is nothing in this world, be it the 
noblest and most commendable action whatsoever, that shall 
escape blameless. As for my being the true and only authoress of 
them, your lordship knows best ; and my attending servants are 
witness that I have had none but my own thoughts, fancies, and 
speculations, to assist me ; and as soon as I set them down I send 
them to those that are to transcribe them, and fit them for the 
press ; whereof, since there have been several, and amongst them 
such as only could write a good hand, but neither understood 
orthography, nor had any learning (I being then in banishment, 
with your lordship, and not able to maintain learned secretaries,) 
which hath been a great disadvantage to my poor works, and the 
cause that they have been printed so false and so full of errors ; 



118 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

for besides that I want also skill in scholarship and true writing, 
I did many time not peruse the copies that were transcribed, lest 
they should disturb my following conceptions ; by which neglect, 
as I said, many errors are slipt into my works, which, yet I hope, 
learned and impartial men will soon rectify, and look more upon 
the sense than carp at words. I have been a student even from 
childhood ; and since I have been your lordship's wife, I have 
lived for the most part a strict and retired life, as is best known 
to your lordship ; and therefore my censurers cannot know much 
of me, since they have little or no acquaintance with me. 'Tis 
true I have been a traveller both before and after I was married 
to your lordship, and some times shown myself at your lordship's 
command in public places or assemblies, but yet I converse with 
few. Indeed, my lord, I matter not the censures of this age, but 
am rather proud of them ; for it shows that my actions are more 
than ordinary, and according to the old proverb, it is better to be 
envied than pitied ; for I know well that it is merely out of spite 
and malice, whereof this present age is so full that none can escape 
them, and they'll make no doubt to stain even your lordship's 
loyal, noble, and heroic actions as well as they do mine ; though 
yours have been of war and fighting, mine of contemplating and 
writing : yours were performed publicly in the field, mine pri- 
vately in my closet : yours had many thousand eye-witnesses ; 
mine none but my waiting-maids. But the great God, that 
hitherto bless'd both your grace and me, will, I question not, 
preserve both our fames to after ages. 

Your grace's honest wife and humble servant, 

M. Newcastle. 

LXXXIII. 

More tiian any other among the distinguished historical per- 
sonages of the seventeenth century, Algernon Sidney, in point 
of character and conduct, will continue to have his detractors 
and admirers. The published letters in the different editions of 
the Sidney papers serve only to confirm his partisans in their 
admiration of his consistency of principle as an enemy of mon- 
archical government — even to the extent of deprecating the per- 
sonal rule of Cromwell — and his enemies in their reprehension of 
the factious leader who could waste his splendid energies in cabal- 
ling with France and Holland for the establishment of a republic 
in England. The most able and eminent of the knot of revolu- 
tionary patriots to which he belonged, he was also the most un- 
compromising and most provokingly obstinate. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 119 



Algernon Sidney to his Father, the Earl of Leicester. 

Venice : Octol)er 12, 1660. 

My Lord, — I did write to yoxir lordship twice from Augsburgh, I 
have little to add to what I then said, unless it be in relation to some- 
thing from him who was my colleague. I think he intends nothing 
less than my hurt, but doubt he may do me very much. Not knowing 
at all the grounds of my proceedings in Denmark, which I think is the 
principal thing objected against me, he will be subject to aggravate 
that, which he doth intend to attenuate. I do in that whole business 
refer myself wholly to my two last letters to your Lordship^ being 
assured nobody knows my mind upon that point, unless it be those 
that have seen them, or some few words inserted into others 
written at the same time. He also mentions another point, but 
so obscurely, that I understand it not, no other person having 
spoken one word of it, which is, that there is something in the 
Glerh of the Courts hook, that put the King to death which doth 
much prejudice me. I do not know the particulars, but the truth 
of what passed I do very well remember. I was at Penshurst, 
when the act for the trial passed, and coming up to town I heard 
my name was put in, and that those that were nominated for 
j Lidges were then in the painted chamber. I presently went thither, 
heard the act read, and found my own name with others. A 
debate was raised how they should proceed upon it, and after 
having been sometime silent to hear what those would say, who 
had had the directing of that business, I did positively oppose 
Cromwell, Bradshaw, and others, v/ho would have the trial to go 
on, and drew my reasons from these two points : First the King 
could he tried by no court ; secondly, that no man could be tried 
by that court. This being alleged in vain, and Cromwell using 
these former words (I tell you, we will cut off his head with the 
crown upon it,) I replied : you may take your own course, I can- 
not stop you, but I will keep myself clean from having any hand 
in this business, immediately went out of the room, and never 
returned. This is all that passed publicly, or that can with truth 
be recorded, or taken notice of. I had an intention, which is not 



120 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

veryjitfor a letter} Some few montlis after, it was moved in the 
House that none should be of the Council of State, but those that 
had signed the order for the king's death ; that motion soon fell ; 
the company appearing unfit for such a work. Afterwards it was 
moved that none should be of the Council but such as would subscribe 
a paper declaring their approbation of that act ; calling that a test 
whereby those that were close and sure unto the work in hand, 
might be distinguished from those that were not. I opposed that, 
and having given such reasons as I could to justify my opinion, I 
chanced to use this expression, that such a test would prove a 
snare to many an honest man, but every knave would slip through 
it ; the Lord Grey of Grooby took great exceptions at this ; and 
said I had called all those knaves, that had signed the order ; 
upon which there was a hot debate, some defending, others blaming 
what I had said, but all mistaking the true sense of it ; and I was 
not hasty to explain myself. Harry Marten saved me the trouble 
of doing it all, by saying that indeed such expressions did sound 
something harsh, when they related to such actions, in which many 
of my brethren had been engaged ; but that the en*or of him who 
took exceptions, was much greater than mine, for I had said only, 
that every knave might slip through, and not that every one who 
did slip through was a knave. I mention these two things as 
public ones, of which I can have many witnesses, and they had so 
ill effects as to my particular concernments, as to make Cromwell, 
Bradshaw, Harrison, Lord Grey and others, my enemies, who did 
from that time continually oppose me. Love to truth, rather than 
expectation of success, persuades me to give your lordship this 
information, which you may be pleased to make use of, as you see 
occasion. 

LXXXIV. 

In the earliest dawn of positive science in England, the name 
of John Ray took the foremost place. He was the first true 
systematist of the animal kingdom, and, as such, the principal 
guide of Linnaeus. As a botanist his fame stands almost higher 
than as a zoologist, and it is not too much to say that he was 

* As Sidney was against trial, it is likely that he aimed at the deposi- 
tion and banishment of Charles I., with the concarrence of both Houses of 
Parliament. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 121 

the inventor of geology. The following account of the Burning 
Fountain of Grenoble gives a good instance of the cool and can- 
did examination which Ray gave to phenomena which eveiyone 
until his day had regarded with superstitious awe. 

John Ray to Tankred Bohinson. 

Black Notley : May 22, 1685. 

Sir, — Last post brought me yours of May 19. In answer 
whereto, seeing what you assert concerning the transmutation 
-mentioned may be true, and is supported by good authority, and 
your opinion, I see no reason it should be struck out ; for those 
principles into which bodies are immediately resoluble by fire, 
being not primary but compound bodies, it may consist with my 
opinion of certain and fixed first principles well enough. 

Keading in the ' Philosophical Transactions ' of March last 
your observations on subterraneous streams, I find you mistaken 
in one of your conjectures concerning matter of fact, that is con- 
cerning that they call the burning fountain [La Fontaine que 
brule] near Grenoble, in Dauphine, which our curiosity led us 
to make an excursive journey from Grenoble on purpose to see. 
This place is about three leagues distant from the city up the 
river. When we came there, we were much deceived in our ex- 
pectation ; for, instead of a burning fountain, which we dreamt 
of, from the name and relations of others, we found nothing of 
water, but only an actual flame of fire issuing out of a rent, or 
hole, in the side of a bank, plainly visible to the eye, to which 
if you applied dry straw, or any other combustible matter, 
it took fire presently. I took it to be nothing else but a 
little spiraculum of a mine of coals, or some such like substance, 
fired ; and my reason was, because the bank, out of which the 
flame issued, looked much like slate and cinder of coals. One thing 
I cannot but admire, that is the long continuance of this burning. 
I find mention of it in ' Augustine de Civitate Dei.' Lib. i. cap. 7 
'De fonte illo ubi faces extinguunter ardentes et accenduntur 
extinctte non inveni in Epiro qui vidisse se dicerent, sed qui in 
Gallia similem nossent, non longe k Gratianopoli civitate ; ' by 
which relation of the good father, we see how he was abused and 
imposed upon by relators that were eye-witnesses. I myself also was 
abused in like manner, and therefore do verilv believe there was 



122 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

then no more fountain there than is now — that is a fountain of 
fire, which, from the constancy and perpetuity of its issuing out, 
it may be called. Hence we may learn what credit is to be 
given to the verbal relations of the generality of travellers. 



LXXXV. 

When the critical admirers of the prose style of Sir Wil- 
liam Temple ask us to believe that the distinguished diplomate 
' advanced our English tongue to as great a perfection as it well 
can bear/ they ask too much. In marking the progress and 
development of English prose style from the overcharged rhe- 
toric of the sixteenth century to a more simple and perspicuous 
arrangement of sentences, Temple was no doubt an important 
unit ; but Cowley, Tillotson, Barrow, Jeremy Taylor, Dryden, 
and Locke also contributed, in their several degrees of excel- 
lence, to create a new standard of refinement and verbal purity 
in our language. The elegance and naivete of Sir "William 
Temple's style are illustrated nowhere better than in his letters. 
He had a happy knack of suiting his manner and wording to 
the character of the person addres.sed. The kindly allusion to 
Edmund AValler is an example of his well-known veneration 
for men of genius. 

Sir William Tem'ple to Lord Lisle. 

Brussels : August, 1667. 
My Lord, — I received lately the honour of one from your Lord- 
ship, which after all complaints of slowness and dulness had enough 
to bear it out, though it had been much better addressed, but 
needed nothing where it was, besides being yours. In my present 
station I want no letters of business or news, which makes those 
that bring me marks of my friends remembrance, or touches at 
their present thoughts and entertainments, taste much better than 
any thing can do that is common fare. I agree very much with 
your Lordship, in being little satisfied by the wits excuse of 
employing none upon relations as they do in France ; and doubt 
much it is the same temper and course of thoughts among us, that 
makes us neither act things worth relating, nor relate things worth 
the reading. Whilst making some of the company laugh, and 
others ridiculous, is the game in vogue, I fear we shall hardly 
succeed at any other, and am sorry our courtiers should content 
themselves with such victoiies as those. I would have been glad 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 123 

to have seen Mr. Cowley, before lie died, celebrate Captain Douglas's 
death ; who stood and burnt in one of our ships at Chatham, when 
his soldiers left him, because it should never be said, a Douglas 
quitted his post without order; whether it be wise in men to do 
such actions or no, I am sure it is so in States to honour them ; and, 
if they can, to turn the vein of wits to raise up the esteem of some 
qualities above the real value, rather than bring every thing to 
burlesque, which, if it be allowed at all, should be so only to wise 
men in their closets, and not to wits, in their common mirth and 
company. But I leave them to be reformed by great men's 
examples and humours, and know very well it is folly for a 
private man to touch them, which does but bring them like wasps 
about one's ears. However, I cannot but bewail the transitoriness 
of their fame, as well as other men's, when I hear Mr. Waller 
is turned to burlesque among them, while he is alive, which never 
happened to old poets till many years after their death ; and though I 
never knew him enough to adore him as many have done, and 
easily believe he may be, as your Lordship says, enough out of 
fashion, yet I am apt to think some of the old cut- work bands were 
of as fine thread, and as well wrought, as any of our new points ; 
and, at least, that all the wit he and his company spent, in 
heightening love and friendship, was better employed, than what 
is laid out so prodigally by the modern wits, in the mockery of all 
sorts of religion and government. 

I know not how your Lordship's letter has engaged me in this kind 
of discom'ses ; but I know very well you will advise me after it to keep 
my residency here as long as I can, foretelling me what success I am 
like to have among our courtiers if I come over. The best on it is, 
my heart is set so much upon my little corner at Sheen, that while I 
keep that, no other disappointments will be very sensible to me ; 
and, because my wife tells me she is so bold as enter into talk of 
enlarging our dominions there, I am contriving here this summer, 
how a succession of cherries may be compassed from May till 
Michaelmas, and how the riches of Sheen vin.es may be improved 
by half a dozen sorts which are not yet known there, and which, I 
think, much beyond any that are. I should be very glad to come 
and plant them myself this next season, bub know not yet how 
those thoughts will hit. Though I design to stay but a month in 
England, yet they are here very unwilling I should stir, as all 



124 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

people in adversity are jealoiis of being forsaken ; and his Majesty 
is not willing to give them any discouragement, whether he gives 
them any assistance or no. But, if they end the campaign with any 
good fortune, they will be better humoured in that, as well as all 
other points : and it seems not a very unlikely thing, the French 
haAdng done nothing in six months past but harass their army, 
and being, before Lisle, engaged in a siege, which may very well 
break the course of tbeir success. They have not yet made the 
least advance upon any of the out works, but been beaten off with 
much loss in all their assaults : and, if that King's design be to 
bring his nobility as low as he has done his people, he is in a good 
way, and may very well leave most of the brave among them in 
their trenches there. 

I had not need write often at this length, nor make your Lord- 
ship any new professions of my being, my Lord, your, &c. 



LXXXVI. 

One of the very few satisfactory poUtical transactions of 
the reign of Charles II. was the Triple Alliance of 1668, nego- 
tiated by Sir AVilliam Temple, the resident minister of Brussels, 
for the purpose of checking the further encroachments of Louis 
XIV. in Flanders. Temple, by his exceeding slrill and diligence, 
. prevailed upon our old foes to join us and Sweden in threaten- 
ing resistance to France, and the conclusion of the treaty was 
hailed with delight by the English Parliament ; hut, unhappily, 
Charles's subsequent disgraceful compact with Louis XIV., known 
as the Secret Treaty of Dover, nipped Temple's work almost in 
the bud. 

Sir William Temple to Mr. Godolphin. 

Brussels : January 28 (n.s.), 1668. 
Sir, — Though the interruption of our commerce hath been long, 
yet I thought it necessary to renew it at this time, and thereby let 
you know what has lately broken it on my side, that you may not 
believe any interruption of yours has had a worse effect upon me 
of late, than it ever had before, being an accident I have often been 
subject to. About the end of last month, I passed through this 
place with private commission from his Majesty, to sound the mind 
of the States in what concerns the present quarrel between the two 
Crowns, and how they were disposed to join with him in the share 
of a war, or project of a peace, to be endeavoured by our joint 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 125 

offices between them. From hence I went to London, with the 
private account of what I had in charge. After five days stay 
there, I was dispatched back, as his Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary 
to the States, with full power to treat and conclude upon those 
points which his Majesty esteemed necessary for our common safety, 
and the repose of Christendom, in this conjuncture. "Upon the 
6th I arrived here, had my first audience on the 18th, and on the 
23rd were signed by me, and the Commissioners given me by the 
States with full powers, three several instruments of our present 
treaty : the first containing a league defensive and perpetual be- 
tween his Majesty and the States, against all persons without 
exception, that shall invade either of them, with agreement to 
furnish each other, upon occasion, with forty ships of war, of which 
fourteen between sixty and eighty guns, and four hundred men 
a-piece, one with another ; fourteen between forty and sixty guns 
and three hundred men a-piece ; and, of the other twelve, none 
under thirty-six guns, and a hundred and fifty men ; besides this, 
with six thousand foot, and four hundred horse, or money instead of 
them, at the choice of the invaded, and to be repaid within three 
years after the end of the war : the proportions of money to the 
several parts of the said aid being ascertained in the treaty. 

The second instrument contains our joint obligations to dispose 
France to make peace in Flanders, upon one of the alternatives 
already proposed ; and likewise to dispose Spain to accept it, before 
the end of May ; but, in case of difficulty made by them, to dispose 
France, however, to stop all farther progress of its own arms there 
and leave it wholly to the allies to procure the ends proposed in 
this league. 

The third instrument contains certain separate articles between 
his Majesty and the States, signed at the same time, and of the 
same force with the treaty, but not to be committed to letters. 

It is hardly imaginable, the joy and wonder conceived here, 
upon the conclusion of this treaty, brought to an issue in five days, 
nor the applause given to his Majesty's resolution, as the wisest 
and happiest that could, in this conjuncture, be taken by any 
Prince, both for his own and his neighbours affiiirs ; nor are the 
reflections upon the conduct of it less to the advantage of the 
present ministry in England ; the thing being almost done here as 
soon as my journey was known in London, and before my errand 



126 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

was suspected by any public Minister there. Three days after 
our signing, the Swedish Ambassador signed another instrument 
jointly with me and the States Commissioners, obliging his Master 
to enter as a principal into the same alliance, so soon as some pre- 
tensions he has from the Emperor and Spain are satisfied by our good 
offices between them. After which Count Dona parted as Ambas- 
sador likewise from that Crown for England, where the rest of that 
afiair will be negotiated ; and in his company my brother Henry 
Temple, with the whole account of my business, and the treaties 
signed in order to their ratification, for which a month is allowed, 
though the States promise theirs within fifteen days after the date. 
When those arrive and are exchanged, I return to my residence 
at Brussels, to see the issue of this business, which now takes up 
the thoughts and discourse of all Christendom, and from which 
most Princes will resolve to take their measures. 

I suppose my Lord Sandwich upon his way, and therefore 
content myself only with giving you this trouble, and the profes- 
sions of my being. Sir, yours, &c. 



LXXXVII. 

It will be seen that this ' model of a negotiator,' as Sir 
James Mackintosh called Sir William Temple, entertained but 
a very modest opinion of himself. He was content to work for 
his country's weal, and had no thought of seeking great official 
rewards. When his ambassadorial functions came to an end 
after the Peace of Nimeguen, he preferred the quiet retirement of 
Moor Park, and the companionship of Swift and other literary 
men, to a Secretaryship of State under the fickle rule of the 
* Merry Monarch.' 

Sir William Temple to Lord Halifax. 

Brussels : March 2 (n.s.), 1668. 
My Lord, — It would be a difficult thing to answer a letter I 
received lately from your Lordship, if it could be ever difficult for 
me to do a duty where I 6we it so much, and pay it so willingly. 
The reflections I make upon what you say, and what I hear from 
other hands of the same kind, carry me only to consider how much 
by chance, and how unequally, persons and things are judged at a 
distance ; and make me ajiprehend, from so much more applause 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 127 

than is my due upon this occasion, that upon the next I may meet 
with as much more blame than I deserve ; as one seldom has a 
great run of cards which is not followed by an ill one, at least 
gamesters that are no luckier than I. It is not my part to unde- 
ceive people, that will make my successes pass for merit or 
ability ; but, for my friends, I would not cheat them to my advan- 
tage itself; and therefore will tell you the secret of all that has 
seemed so surprising in my negotiation; which is, that things 
drawn out of their center are not to be moved without much force, 
or skill, or time ; but, to make their return to their center again, 
there is required but little of either, for nature itself does the 
work. The true center of our two nations, now so near allied, is 
where they now are seated ; and nothing was in the way of their 
returning thither, but the extreme jealousies grown between the 
Ministers on both sides, and from thence diiFused among the 
people ; and this it was my good luck to cure, by falHng into a 
great confidence with Monsieur de Witt, which made all the rest 
easy : and there is the whole story, that you may see how much 
you are either biassed or mistaken in all the rest you say of it. 
For what you mention of reward, I know not how it came into 
your head, but I am sure it never entered into mine, nor, I dare 
say, into any body's else. I will confess to you, that, considering 
the approbation and good opinion, which his Majesty, and some 
considerable enough about him, have been abused into, by my good 
fortune in this business, I think a wiser man might possibly make 
some benefit of it, and some of my friends have advised me to 
attempt it, but it is in vain : for I know not how to ask, nor why, 
and this is not an age where any thing is given without it. And, 
by that time you see me next, you shall find all this which was so 
much in talk to my advantage for nine days, as much forgotten as 
if it had never been, and very justly, I think ; for in that time it 
received a great deal more than its due, from many other hands as 
well as from yours. This I tell you, that you may not deceive 
yourself by hoping to see me ever considerable, farther than in the 
kindness of my friends; and that your Lordship may do your 
part to make me so in that, seeing me like to fail in all other ways. 
But, as I remember, this is a time with you for good speeches, and 
not for ill letters ; I will therefore end this, to make you more 
room for the others, and hope that none of the eloquence you are 



128 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

entertained with, can be more persuasive than a plain truth, when 
I assure you that I am, my Lord, your Lordship's most faithful 
humble servant. 



LXXXVIII. 

Lord William Russell, a victim of the Rye House Plot, was 
condemned to death for conspiring to seize the King's Guards ; 
by a strained construction of the law of treason, this was inter- 
preted as an attempt to take the life of Charles 11. On the 
scaffold he handed a paper to the sheriffs written in justification 
of his conduct as a member of the Whig- Junto for pressing 
reforms on the Government. In this he proved himself guilty 
only of the barest misprision of treason. The paper gave great 
oflence at Court ; Dr. Burnet was questioned about it, hence the 
following exculpatory letter from Lady Russell. 

liady Rachel Russell to Kii%g Charles II. 

1683. 

May it please Your Majesty, — I find my husband's enemies are 
not appeased witli his blood, but still continue to misrepresent him 
to your Majesty. 'Tis a great addition to my sorrows^to hear 
your Majesty is prevailed upon to believe, that the paper he deli- 
vered to the Sheriff at his death, was not his own. I can truly 
say, and am ready in the solemnest manner to attest that I often 
heard him discourse the chiefest matters contained in that paper, 
in the same expressions he therein uses, as some of those few rela- 
tions that were admitted to him, can likewise aver. And sure 'tis 
an argument of no great force, that there is a phrase or two in it 
another uses, when nothing is more common than to take up such 
words we like, or are accustomed to in our conversation. I beg 
leave further to avow to your Majesty, that all that is set down in 
the paper read to your Majesty on Sunday night, to be spoken in 
my presence, is exactly true ; ^ as I doubt not but the rest of the 
paper is, which was written at my request ; and the author of it, 
in all his conversation with my husband that I was privy to, 
showed himself a loyal subject to your Majesty, a faithful friend 
to him, and a most tender and conscientious minister to his soul. 
I do therefore humbly beg your Majesty would be so charitable to 

• This paper contained an. account of all that passed between Dr. 
Burnet and Lord William Russell concerning his last speech and paper. 



1700] ENGLISH LEITERS. 129 

believe, that lie who in all his life was observed to act with the 
greatest clearness and sincerity, would not at the point of death do 
so disingenuous and false a thing as to deliver for his own that 
what was not properly and expressly so. 

And if, after the loss in such a manner of the best husband in 
the world, I were capable of any consolation, your Majesty only 
could afford it by having better thoughts of him, which when I 
was so importunate to speak with your Majesty, I thought I had 
some reason to believe I had incHned you to, not from the credit 
of my word, but upon the evidence of what I had to say. I hope 
I have writ nothing in this that will displease your Majesty. If 
I have, I humbly beg of you to consider it as coming from a 
woman amazed with grief ; and that you will pardon the daughter 
of a person ^ who served your Majesty's father in his greatest 
extremities, (and your Majesty in yoiu' greatest posts) and one that 
is not conscious of having ever done anything to offend you. I 
shall ever pray for your Majesty's long life and happy reign, 
"Who am, with all humility, 

May it please your Majesty 
&c. 



LXXXLX. 

William III., who ridiculed many of the superstitious church 
practices of his day, was regarded by the High Church party as 
either an Infidel or a Puritan. His firmness and independence 
in filling up the niunerous ecclesiastical benefices after the Eevo- 
lution did not tend to diminish the disattection in the Episco- 
pate. The vacancy in the Deanery of St. Paul's, caused by the 
nomination of Dr. Stillingfieet to the Bishopric of Worcester 
was filled by Dr. Tillotson in 1689 ; at the time this appoint- 
ment was made Dr. Tillotson was informed by the King that he 
was to be Sancroft's successor in the see of Canterbury. Un- 
willing to accept such high honour he sought the advice of 
Lady PusseU in a letter to which this was the reply. 

Lady Rachel Russell to Dr. Tillotson, Dean of St. Paulas. 

October, 1690. 
Your letters will never trouble me, Mr. Dean; on the con- 
trary, they are comfortable refreshments to my, for the most part, 
overburthened mind, which both by nature and by accident, is 

* The Earl of Southampton. 



130 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

made so weak that I can't bear, with that constancy I should, the 
losses I have lately felt ; I can say, friends and acquaintances thou 
hast hid out of my sight, but I hope it shall not disturb my peace. 
These were young, and as they had began their race of life after 
me, so I desired they might have ended it also. But happy are 
those whom God retires in his grace — I trust these were so ] and 
then no age can be amiss : to the young 'tis not too early, nor to 
the aged too late. Submission and prayer is all we know that we 
can do towards our own relief in our distresses, or to disarm God's 
anger either in our public or private concerns. This scene will 
soon alter into that peaceful and eternal home in prospect. But 
in this time of our pilgrimage vicissitudes of all sorts are every- 
one's lot. And this leads me to your case. Sir. 

The time seems to be come when you must anew in practice 
that submission ^ you have so powerfully both tried yourself and 
instructed others to : I see no place to escape at ] you must take 
up the cross and bear it ; I faithfully believe it has the figure of a 
very heavy one to you, though not from the cares of it ; since, if 
the King guesses right, you toil more now ; but this work is of 
your own choosing, and the dignity of the other is what you have 
bent your mind against, and the strong resolve of your life has 
been to avoid it. Had this even proceeded to a vow, 'tis, I think, 
like the virgins of old to be dissolved by the father of your 
country. 

Again, tho' contemplation, and a few friends well chosen, 
would be your grateful choice, yet, if charity, obedience, and neces- 
sity, call you into the great world, and where enemies encompass 
round about, must not you accept it 1 And each of these, in my 
mean apprehension, determines you to do it. In short, 'twill be a 
noble sacrifice you will make, and I am confident you will find as 
a reward, kind and tender supports, if you do take the burthen 
upon you ; there is, as it were, a commanding Providence in the 
manner of it. Perhaps I do as sincerely wish your thoughts at 
ease as any friend you have, but I think you may purchase that 
too dear ; and if you should come to think so too, they would then 
be as restless as before. 

Sir, I believe you would be as much a common good as you 

* Dr. Tillotson had endeavoured to persuade Lord William Russell to 
snbmit to the doctrine of passive obedie ce to kingship. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 131 

can ; consider how few of ability and integrity tMs age produces. 
Pray do not turn this matter too much in your head ; when one 
has once turned it every way, you know that more does but per- 
plex, and one never sees the clearer for it. Be not stiff if it be still 
urged to you. Conform to the Divine Will, which has set it so 
strongly in the other's mind, and be content to endure ; 'tis God 
calls you to it. I believe 'twas wisely said, that when there is no 
remedy they will give it over, and make the best of it, and so I 
hope no ill will terminate on the King ; and they will lay up their 
arrows, when they perceive they are shot in vain at him or you, 
upon whom no reflection that I can think of can be made that is 
ingenious ; and what is pure malice you are above being affected 
with. I wish, for many reasons, my prayers were more worthy, 
but such as they are, I offer them with a sincere zeal to the throne 
of Grace for you in this strait, that you may be led out of it, as 
shall best serve the great ends and designs of God's glory. 



XO. 

Lord Macaiilay refers to the following letter as ' a model of 
serious, friendly, and gentlemanlike reproof.' 

The Earl of Shrewsbuiy (created a Duke by AVilliam III. 
for his activity and support at the Revolution), was accounted 
one of the finest scholars and finest gentlemen of his time. He 
was known from youth to old age as the King of Hearts, for 
everybody loved him. His conversion from the Roman Catho- 
lic to the Protestant faith at the outset of his career was caused 
by the disgust he felt at that wretched business, the Popish plot, 
and the timely influence of Dr. Tillotson, the Dean of Canter- 
bury. So much concern did the Dean feel for his convert, whom 
he found in danger of being attracted into the dissolute circle of 
Charles H.'s court, that he addressed him this masterpiece of ele- 
gant remonstrance. 

Dr. Tillotson to the Earl of Shrewsbury. 

1679. 

My Lord, — It was a great satisfaction to me to be any ways 
instrumental in the gaining your Lordship to our religion, which I 
am really persuaded to be the truth. But I am, and always was 
more concern'd, that your Lordship would continue a vii'tuous 
and good man, than become a Protestant, being assured, that the 
ignorance and errors of men's understanding will find a much 



132 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

easier forgiveness with God, than the faults of the will. I remem- 
ber that your Lordship once told me, that you would endeavour to 
justify the sincerity of your change by a conscientious regard to all 
other parts and actions of your life. I am sure you cannot more 
effectually condemn your own act, than by being a worse man 
after your profession to have embrac'd a better religion. I will 
certainly be one of the last to believe any thing of your Lordship, 
that is not good ; but I always feared, I should be one of the first 
that should hear it. The time I last waited upon your Lordship, 
I had heard something, that afflicted me very sensibly; but I 
hoped it was not true, and was therefore loth to trouble your 
Lordship about it. But having heard the same from those, who, I 
believe, bear no ill-will to your Lordship, I now think it my duty 
to acquaint you with it. To speak plainly, I have been told, that 
your Lordship is of late fallen into a conversation dangerous both 
to your reputation and virtue, two of the tenderest and dearest 
things in the world. I believe your Lordship to have a great 
command and conduct of yourself; but I am very sensible of 
human frailty, and of the dangerous temptations, to which youth 
is exposed in this dissolute age. Therefore I earnestly beseech 
your Lordship to consider, besides the high provocation of 
Almighty God, and the hazard of your soul, whenever you engage 
in a bad course, what a blemish you will bring upon a fair and 
unspotted reputation ; what uneasiness and trouble you will create 
to yourself from the severe reflections of a guilty conscience, and 
how great a violence you will offer to your good principles, your 
nature, and your education, and to a mind the best made for 
virtuous and worthy things. And do not imagine you can stop 
when you please. Experience shews us the contrary, and that no- 
thing is more vain, than for men to think they can set bounds to 
themselves in anything that is bad. I hope in God, no temptation 
has yet prevailed on your Lordship so far as to be guilty of any 
loose act. If it has, as you love your soul, let it not proceed to an 
habit. The retreat is yet easy and open, but will every day be- 
come more difficult and obstructed. God is so merciful, that upon 
your repentance and resolution of amendment, he is not only ready 
to forgive what is past, but to assist us by his grace to do better 
for the future. But I need not inforce these considerations upon 
a mind so capable of, and easy to receive good counsel. I shall 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 133 

only desire yovir Lordship to think again and again, how great a 
point of wisdom it is, in all our actions, to consult the peace of our 
minds, and to have no quarrel with the constant and inseparable 
companion of our lives. If others displease us, we may quit their 
company ; but he, that is displeased with himself, is unavoidably 
unhappy because he has no way to get rid of himself. My Lord, 
for God's sake, and your own, think of being happy, and resolve 
by all means to save yourself from this untoward generation. 
Determine rather upon a speedy change of your condition, than to 
gratify the inclinations of your youth in any thing but what is 
lawful and honourable; and let me have the satisfaction to be 
assured from your Lordship, either that there has been no ground 
for this report, or that there shall be none for the future ; which 
will be the welcomest news to me in the world. I have only to 
beg of your Lordship to believe, that I have not done this to 
satisfy the formality of my profession ; but that it proceeds from 
the truest affection and good- will, that one man can possibly bear 
to another. I pray God every day for your Lordship with the 
same constancy and fervour as for myself, and do most earnestly 
beg, that this counsel may be acceptable and effectual. 

I am, &c. 

XCI. 

This is the answer to the foregoiug letter of Lady Rachel 
"Russell. 

Six months after this letter was written Sancroft was 
deprived of his see, and Tillotson was appointed Archbishop of 
Canterbury. When it is remembered that many of the states- 
men of the Middle Ages took holy orders merely to qualify 
themselves to be recipients of the only lucrative form of patron- 
age dispensed by the Crown ; and that in the succeeding genera- 
tions venerable prelates have not scrupled to have the greatness 
of an archbishopric thrust upon -them, this hesitation, on the 
part of Tillotson, to accept the leadership of the church is very 
striking. A reason for his faltering was that he had a wife ; but 
modern precedents, in the cases of Cranmer and Parker, out- 
weighed this objection. 

Dr. Tillotson to Lady Rachel Russell. 

October 25, 1690. 
Honoured Madam, — I am obliged to your Ladyship beyond all 
e2:pression, for taking my case so seriously into your consideration, 



134 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

and giving me your mature thoughts upon it. Nothing ever came 
more seasonably to me than your letter, which I received on Wed- 
nesday se'nnight, the very night before I was to have given my 
final answer to the King the next morning. I thank you for it : 
it helped very much to settle and determine my wavering mind. I 
weighed all you wrote, both your advice and your arguments, 
having not only an assurance of your true friendship and good-will 
for me, but a very great regard and deference for your judgment 
and opinion. I cannot but own the weight of that consideration 
which you are pleased to urge me withal ; I mean the visible marks 
of a more than ordinary providence of God in this thing ; that the 
King, who likes not either to importune or to be denied, should 
after so obstinate a declining of the thing on my part, still persist to 
press it upon me with so much kindness, and with that earnestness of 
persuasion which it does not become me to mention. I wish I 
could think the King had a superior direction in this, as I verily 
believe he hath in some other things of much greater importance. 
The next morning I went to Kensington full of fear, but yet deter- 
mined what was fit for me to do. I met the King coming out of 
his closet, and asking if his coach was ready. He took me aside, 
and I told him, that, in obedience to his Majesty's command, I 
had considered of the thing as well as I could, and came to give 
him my answer. I perceived his Majesty was going out, and 
therefore desired him to appoint me another time, which he did on 
the Saturday morning after. Then I came again, and he took me 
into his closet, where I told him, that I could not but have a deep 
sense of his Majesty's great grace and favour to me, not only to 
offer me the best thing he had to give, but to press it so earnestly 
upon me. I said, I would not presume to argue the matter any 
farther, but I hoped he would give me leave to be still his humble 
and earnest petitioner to spare me in that thing. He answered, 
he would do so if he could, but he knew not what to do if I 
refused it. Upon that I told him, that I tendered my hfe to him, 
and did humbly devote it to be disposed of as he thought fit. He 
was graciously pleased to say, it was the best news had come to him 
this great while. I did not kneel down to kiss his hand, for with- 
out that I doubt I am too sure of it ; but requested of him, that 
he would defer the declaration of it, and let it be a secret for some 
time. He said he thought it might not be amiss to defer it till the 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 135 

Parliament was up, I begged farther of him, that he would not 
make me a wedge to drive out the present Archbishop : that some 
time before I was nominated his Majesty would be pleased to 
declare in Council, that since his lenity had not had any better 
effect, he would wait no more, but would dispose of their places. 
This I told him I humbly desired, that I might not be thought to 
do any thing harsh, or which might reflect upon me : and now that 
his Majesty had thought fit to advance me to this station, my 
reputation was become his interest. He said he was sensible of it, 
and thought it reasonable to do as I desired. I craved leave of 
him to mention one thing more, which in justice to my family, 
especially to my wife, I. ought to do : that I should be more than 
undone by the great and necessary charge of coming into this 
place ; and must therefore be an humble petitioner to his Majesty, 
that if it should please God to take me out of the world, that I 
may unavoidably leave my wife a beggar, he would not suffer her 
to be so ; and that he would graciously be pleased to consider, that 
the widow of an Archbishop of Canterbury (which would now be 
an odd figure in England ) could not decently be supported by so 
little as would have contented her very well if I had died a Dean. 
To this he gave a very gracious answer, ' I promise you to take 
care of her.' 

Just as I had finished the last sentence, another very kind 
letter from your Tiadyship was brought to me, wherein I find your 
tender concern for me, which I can never sufficiently acknowledge. 
But you say the die is not cast, and I must now make the best I 
can of what I lately thought was the worst that could have hap- 
pened to me. I thank God I am more cheerful than I expected, 
and comfort myself as I can with this hope, that the providence of 
God, to which I have submitted my own will in this matter, will 
graciously assist me to discharge in some measure, the duty he 
hath called me to. I did not acquaint my good friend, who wrote 
to you, with all that had passed, because it was intended to be a 
secret which I am sure is safe in your hands. I only told him, 
that his Majesty did not intend, as yet, to dispose of this place ; 
but when he did it, I was afraid it would be hard for me to escape. 
The King, I believe, has only acquainted the Queen with it, who, 
as she came out of the closet on Sunday last, commanded me to 
wait upon her after dinner, which I did ; and after she had dis- 



136 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

coursed about other business (which was to desire my opinion of a 
treatise sent her in manuscript out of Holland, tending to the 
reconciliation of our differences in England), she told me, that the 
King had with great joy acquainted her with a secret concerning 
me, whereof she was no less glad ; using many gracious expres- 
sions, and confirming his Majesty's promises concerning my wife. 
But I am sensible this is an intolerable letter, especially concern- 
ing one's-self. I had almost forgot to mention M'^ Yaughan's 
business ; as soon as he brought your Ladyship's letter hither to 
me, I wrote immediately to Whitehall, and got the business stop't. 
The Bishop of St. David's had written up for some minister of a 
great town but a small living in that diocese, that it might be 
bestowed on him for his pains in that great town. The pretence 
is fair, but if the Minister is no better a man than the bishop, I am 
sure he is not worthy of it. I have been twice to wait on my 
Lord Nottingham about it, but missed of him. When I have 
inquired farther into it, if the thing be fit to be done, I will do my 
best for M'' Yaughan. And I beg of your Ladyship to make no 
difficulty of commanding my poor service upon any occasion, for I 
am always truly glad of the opportunity. I cannot forbear to 
repeat my humble thanks for your great concernment for me in 
this affaii'. 

That God would multiply his best blessings upon your Lady- 
ship and your children, and make them great blessings and com- 
forts to you, is the daily prayer of, Madam, your most obliged 
humble servant. 

XOII. 

This John Dennis is the man so familiar to the reader of 
Pope's satires. He was one of the most formidable critics of 
our Augustan age. The present letter is in answer to one he 
had addressed to Dryden a few days before, in which he had 
spoken very enthusiastically of the great poet's genius. 

Dryden's kindly and genial temper is very pleasantly illus- 
trated in this reply to his young admirer, though he alludes with 
some bitterness to the attacks which had been so unjustly made 
on his private character. The letter is interesting also for the 
critical remarks with which it is interspersed. 

John Dryden to John Dennis. 

[March, 1693-4.] 
My Dear Mr. Dennis, — When I read a letter so full of my 
commendations as your last, I cannot but consider you as 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 137 

master of a vast treasure, who having more than enough for your- 
self, are forc'd to ebb out upon your friends. You have indeed the 
best right to give them, since you have them in propriety ; but 
they are no more mine when I receive them, than the light of 
the moon can be allowed to be her own, who shines but by the 
reflexion of her brother. Your own poetry is a more powerful 
example, to prove that the modern writers may enter into com- 
parison with the ancients, than any which Perrault could produce 
in France ; yet neither he, nor you, who are a better critick, can 
persuade me, that there is any room left for a solid commendation 
at this time of day, at least for me. 

If I undertake the translation of Yirgil, the little which I can 
perform will shew at least, that no man is fit to write after him, in 
a barbarous modern tongue. Neither will his machines be of any 
service to a Christian poet. We see how ineffectually they have 
been try'd by Tasso, and by Ariosto. 'Tis using them too dully, 
if we only make devils of his gods : as if, for example, I would 
raise a storm, and make use of ^olus, with this only difference of 
calling him Piince of the air ; wliat invention of mine would there 
be in this % or who would not see Yirgil through me ; only the 
same trick play 'd over again by a bujigling juggler? Boileau has 
well observed, that it is an easy matter in a Christian poem, for 
God to bring the Devil to reason. I think I have given a better 
hint for new machines in my preface to Juvenal ; where I have 
particularly recommended two subjects, one of King Arthur's 
conquest of the Saxons, and the other of the Black Prince in his 
conquest of Spain. But the Guardian Angels of Monarchies and 
Kingdoms are not to be touch'd by every hand : a man must be 
deeply conversant in the Platonick philosophy, to deal with them ; 
and therefore I may reasonably expect that no poet of our age will 
presume to handle those machines, for fear of discovering his own 
ignorance ; or if he should, he might perhaps be ingrateful enough 
no*t to o^vn me for his benefactom*. 

After I have confess'd thus much of our modern heroick poetry, 
T cannot but conclude with Mr. Kymer, that our English comedy 
is far beyond any thing of the Ancients : and notwithstanding our 
irregularities, so is our tragedy. Shakspeare had a genius for it ; 
and we know, in spite of Mr. Pymer, that genius alone is a 
greater virtue (if I may so call it) than all other qualifications put 



138 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

together. You see what success this learned critick has found in 
the world, after his blaspheming Shakspeare. Almost all the 
faults which he has discover'd are truly there ; yet who will read 
Mr. Rymer, or not read Shakspeare ? For my own part I reverence 
Mr. Kymer's learning, but I detest his ill-nature and his arrogance. 
I indeed, and such as I, have reason to be afraid of him, but 
Shakspeare has not. 

There is another part of poetry, in which the English stand 
almost upon an equal foot with the Ancients ; and it is that which 
we call Pindarique ; introduced, but not perfected, by our famous 
Mr. Cowley : and of this. Sir, you are certainly one of the greatest 
masters. You have the sublimity of sense as well as sound, and 
know how far the boldness of a poet may lawfully extend. I 
could wish you would cultivate this kind of Ode ; and reduce it 
either to the same measures which Pindar used, or give new 
measures of your own. For, as it is, it looks like a vast track of 
land newly discover'd : the soil is wonderfully fruitful, but un- 
manur'd; overstock'd with inhabitants, but almost all savages, 
without laws, arts, arms, or policy. 

I remember, poor Nat. Lee, who was then upon the verge of 
madness, yet made a sober and a witty answer to a bad poet, who 
told him, It was an easie thing to write like a madman : No, said 
he, it is very difficult to write like a madman, but it is a very easy 
matter to write like a fool. Otway and he are safe by death from 
all attacks, but we poor poets militant (to use Mr. Cowley's ex- 
pression) are at the mercy of wretched scribblers : and when they 
cannot fasten upon our verses, they fall upon our morals, our 
principles of state and religion. For my principles of religion, I 
will not justifie them to you : I know yours are far different. For 
the same reason I shall say nothing of my principles of state. I 
believe you in yours follow the dictates of your reason, as I in 
mine do those of my conscience. 

If I thought my self in an errour, I would retract it. I am 
sure that I suffer for them ; and Milton makes even the Devil say, 
that no creature is in love with pain. For my morals betwixt man 
and man, I am not to be my own judge. I appeal to the world, if 
I have deceiv'd or defrauded any man ; and for my private con- 
versation, they who see me every day can be the best witnesses, 
whether or not it be blameless and inoffensive. Hitherto I have 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 139 

no reason to complain that men of either party shnn my company. 
I have never been an impudent beggar at the doors of noblemen : 
my visits have indeed been too rare to be unacceptable ; and but 
just enough to testifie my gratitude for their bounty, which I have 
frequently received, but always unasked, as themselves will witness. 

I have written more than I needed to you on this subject ; for 
I dare say you justifie me to your self. As for that which I first 
intended for the principal subject of this letter, which is my friend's 
passion and his design of marriage, on better consideration I have 
chang'd my mind : for having had the honour to see my dear friend 
Wycherly's letter to him on that occasion, I find nothing to be 
added or amended. But as well as I love Mr. Wycherly, I confess 
I love my self so well, that I will not shew how much I am in- 
feriour to him in wit and judgment, by undertaking anything after 
him. There is Moses and the Prophets in his council. Jupiter 
and Juno, as the poets tell us, made Tiresias their umpire in a 
certain merry dispute, which fell out in heaven betwixt them. 
Tiresias, you know, had been of both sexes, and therefore was a 
proper judge ; our friend Mr. Wycherly is full as competent an 
arbitrator : he has been a bachelor, and marry'd man, and is now a 
widower. 

Virgil says of Ceneus, 

Nunc vir, nunc fcemina, Ceneus, 
Rursus et in veterem fate revoluta figuram. 

Yet I suppose he will not give any large commendations to his 
middle state : nor as the sailor said, will be fond after a ship- 
wrack to put to sea again. If my friend will adventure after this, 
I can but wish him a good wind, as being his, and 
My dear Mr. Dennis 

Your most afiectionate 

and moat faithful Servant 

John Dryden. 



XCIII. 

Miss Thomas was the daughter of a barrister, and had be- 
come acquainted with Drjden by sending him some of her verses 
that she might have his opinion on them. Though labouring 
under a complication of diseases and on the verge of the grave, 
the old poet poHtely replied in words of high praise. The fol- 



140 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

lowing was written within three months of his death. It would 
have been well had ' Corinna/ as he gallantly called her, always 
remembered his wise and solemn words. 

John Dryden to Elizabeth Thomas. 

November, 1699. 

Madam, — The great desire which I observe in you to write 
well, and those good parts which God Almighty and Nature have 
bestow'd on you, make me not to doubt, that by application to 
study, and the readmg of the best authors, you may be absolute 
mistress of poetry. 'Tis an unprofitable art, to those who profess 
it ; but you, who write only for your diversion, may pass your 
hours with pleasure in it, and without prejudice ; always avoiding 
(as I know you will,) the licence which Mrs. Behn allow'd herself, 
of writing loosely, and giving, if I may have leave to say so, some 
scandall to the modesty of her sex. I confess, I am the last man 
who ought, in justice, to arraign her, who have been my self too 
much a libertine in most of my poems ; which I should be well 
contented I had time either to purge, or to see them fairly burn'd. 
But this I need not say to you, who are too well born, and too 
well principled, to fall into that mire. 

In the mean time, I would advise you not to trust too much to 
Virgil's Pastorals ; for as excellent as they are, yet Theocritus is 
far before him, both in softness of thought, and simplicity of ex- 
pression. Mr. Creech has translated that Greek poet, which I 
have not read in English. If you have any considerable faults, 
they consist chiefly in the choice of words, and the placing them so 
as to make the verse run smoothly ; but I am at present so taken 
up with my own studies, that I have not leisure to descend to par- 
ticulars ; being, in the mean time, the fair Corinna's 
Most humble and most 

faithful Servant 

John Dryden. 

P.S. I keep your two copies, till you want them, and are 
pleas'd to send for them. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTEBS. 141 



XCIV. 

' The unquestioned founder of the analytical philosophy of 
mind/ for so John Stuart Mill dubbed John Locke, was no mere 
grave psychologist, but a rather facetious companion who 
believed implicitly in La Rochefoucauld's maxim that ' gravity 
is a mystery of the body invented to conceal the defects of the 
mind.' It was an article of faith with the author of the ' Essay on 
the Human Understanding,' that in order properly to employ apart 
of this life in serious occupations it is necessary to devote another 
part to entertaining pastimes. There is much in Locke's familiar 
correspondence that betrays a vein of pleasantry and a com-tier- 
like demeanour which explains his popularity among friends. 

John Locke to Lady Galverley. 

1703. 

Madam, — Whatever reason you have to look on me, as one of 
the slow men of London, you have this time given me an excuse 
for being so ; for you cannot expect a quick answer to a letter, 
which took me up a good deal of time to get to the beginning of it. 
I tui'aed and turned it on every side ; looked at it again and again, 
at the top of eveiy page ; but could not get into the sense and 
secret of it, till J. applied myself to the middle. 

You, madam, who are acquainted with all the skill and methods 
of the ancients, have not, I suppose, taken up with this hiero- 
glyphical way of writing for nothing ; and since you were going to 
put into your letter things that might be the reward of the highest 
merit, you would, by this mystical intimation, put me into the way 
of virtue, to deserve them. 

But whatever your ladyship intended, this is certain, that, in 
the best words in the world, you gave me the greatest humiliation 
imaginable. Had I as much vanity as a pert citizen, that sets up 
as a wit in his parish, you have said enough in your letter to content 
me ; and if I could be swoln that way, you have taken a great deal 
of pains to blow me up, and make me the finest gaudy bubble in 
the world, as I am painted by your colours. I know the emperors 
of the East suffer not strangers to appear before them, till they are 
dressed up out of their own wardrobes ; is it so too in the empire 
of wit ? and must you cover me with your own embroidery, that I 
may be a fit object for your thoughts and conversation 1 This, 
madam, may suit your greatness, but doth not at all satisfy my 



142 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

ambition. He, who has once flattered himself with the hopes of 
your friendship, knows not the true value of things, if he can 
content himself with these splendid ornaments. 

As soon as I had read your letter, I looked in my glass, felt my 
pulse, and sighed ; for I found, in neither of those, the promises of 
thirty years to come. For at the rate I have hitherto advanced, 
and at the distance, I see, by this complimental way of treatment, 
I still am, I shall not have time enough in this world to get to 
you. I do not mean to the place where you now see the pole 
elevated, as you say, 54 degrees. A post-horse, or a coach, would 
quickly carry me thither. But when shall we be acquainted at 
this rate? Is that happiness reserved to be completed by the 
gossiping bowl, at your granddaughter's lying-in % 
. If I were sure that, when you leave this dirty place, I should 
meet you in the same star where you are to shine next, and that 
you would then admit me to your conversation, I might perhaps 
have a little more patience. But, methinks, it is much better to 
be sure of something, than to be put off to expectations of so much 
uncertainty. If there be different elevations of the pole here, that 
keep you at so great a distance from those who languish in your 
absence ; who knows but, in the other world, there are different 
elevations of persons ? 

And you, perhaps, will be out of sight, among the seraphims, 
while we are left behind in some dull planet. This the high 
flights of your elevated genius give us just augury of, whilst you 
are here. But yet, pray take not your place there before your 
time ; nor keep not us poor mortals at a greater distance than you 
need. 

When you have granted me all the nearness that acquaintance 
and friendship can give, you have other advantages enough still to 
make me see how much I am beneath you. This will be only an 
enlargement of your goodness, without lessening the adoration due 
to your other excellences. 

You seem to have some thoughts of the town again. If the 
parliament, or the term, which draw some by the name and 
appearance of business; or if company, and music meetings, and 
other such entertainments, which have the attractions of pleasure 
and delight, were of any consideration with you ; you would not 
have much to say for Yorkshire, at this . time of the year. But 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 143 

these are no arguments to you, who carry your own satisfaction, 
and I know not how many worlds always about you. I would be 
glad you would think of putting all these up in a coach and 
bringing them this way. 

For though you should be never the better ; yet there be a great 
many here that would, and amongst them 

The humblest of your Ladyship's servants 

John Locke. 

XCV. 

Sir Isaac Newton found time for a good deal of correspond- 
ence with members of foreig-n and English Universities, notably 
with the learned Dr. Bentley, of Cambridge ; but his letters are 
for the most part long, and attain the dimensions and form of 
scientific ti'acts. The following is an interesting specimen of 
the few shorter epistles. 

Sir Isaac Newton to Richard Bentley. 

Cambridge : February 11, 1693. 
Sir, — The Hypothesis of deriving the frame of the world by 
mechanical principles from matter evenly spread through the 
heavens being inconsistent with my system, I had considered it 
very little before your letters put me upon it, and therefore trouble 
you with a line or two more, if this come not too late for your use. 
In my former I represented that the diurnal rotations of the Planets 
could not be derived from gravity, but required a divine power to 
impress them. And though gravity might give the Planets a 
motion of descent towards the sun, either directly or with some 
little obliquity, yet the transverse motions by which they revolve 
in their several orbs required the Divine Arm to impress them 
according to the tangents of their orbs. I would now add, that 
the Hypothesis of matters being at first evenly spread through 
the heavens is, in my opinion, inconsistent with the Hypothesis of 
innate gravity, without a supernatural power to reconcile them, and 
therefore it infers a Deity. For if there be innate gravity, it's 
impossible now for the matter of the earth and all the planets and 
stars to fly up from them, and become evenly spread throughout 
the heavens, without a supernatural power ; and certainly that 
which can never be hereafter without a supernatural power, could 
never be heretofore without the same power. 



144 -ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

You queried whether matter evenly spread throughout a finite 
space, of some other figure than spherical, would not, in falling 
down towards a central body, cause that body to be of the same 
figure with the whole space ; and I answered, Yes. But in my 
answer it is to be supposed that the matter descends directly down- 
wards to that body, and that that body has no diurnal rotation. 
This, Sir, is all that I would add to my former letters. 

I am, Your most humble Servant, 

Is. Newton. 



XCVI. 

The following authentic report of the execution of the rebel- 
lious son of Charles II. and Lucy Walters, was written by one 
of the ' Seven Bishops.' An acknowledgment of the Duke of 
Monmouth's illegitimacy had been previously made in two pub- 
lic official declarations by his father, as well as to James II. by 
the Duke himself. It will be seen that Monmouth remained 
headstrong, obstinate, and courageous, to the last moment of his 
hfe. 

Dr. Lloyd {Bishop of St. Asaph) to Dr. Fell (Bishop of Oxford). 

July 16, 1685. 

My Lord, — I received your Lordship's letter by the last post, 
with two enclosed, one to the Duke of Ormond, the other to the 
Lord Privy-Seal; both which letters I delivered to their own 
hands, and they promised to answer them. 

For the King's Inauguration, I know my Lord of Canterbury 
has made ready an office to be used very year, the 6th of 
February, so that there will need no question concerning it. I 
was this day again at Sir H. Foxe's, to speak with him, but he was 
not at home. I will try again to-morrow. 

I told your Lordship in my last the Bishop of Ely was ap- 
pointed by his Majesty to attend the Duke of Monmouth, and to 
prepare him to die the next day. The Duke wrote to his Majesty, 
representing how useful he might and would be, if his Majesty 
would be pleased to grant him his life. But if it might not be, 
he desired a longer time, and to have another divine to assist him, 
D'' Tennison, or whom else the King should appoint. The King 
sent him the Bishop of Bath and Wells to attend, and to tell him 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 145 

he must die the next morning. The two Bishops sate up in his 
chamber all night, and watched while he slept. In the morning 
by his Majesty's order, the Lords Privy-Seal and Dartmouth 
brought him also D'^" Tennison and D"* Hooper. All these were 
with him till he died. They got him to own the King's title to the 
crown, and to declare in writing that the last King told him he 
was never married to his mother, and by word of mouth to acknow- 
ledge his invasion was sin ; but could never get him to confess it 
was a rebellion. They got him to own that he and Lady Harriot 
"Wentworth had lived in all points like man and wife, but they 
could not make him confess it was adultery. 

He acknowledged that he and his Duchess were married by the 
law of the land, and therefore his children might inherit, if the 
King pleased. But he did not consider what he did when he 
married her. He confessed that he had lived many years in all sorts 
of debauchery, but said he had repented of it, asked pardon, and 
doubted not that God had forgiven him. He said that since that 
time he had an affection for Lady Harriot, and prayed that if it 
were pleasing to God, it might continue, otherwise that it might 
cease ; and God heard his prayer. The affection did continue, and 
therefore he doubted not it was pleasing to God ; and that this 
was a marriage, their choice of one another being guided not by 
lust, but by judgment upon due consideration. 

They endeavoured to shew him the falsehood and mischievous- 
ness of this enthusiasticall principle. But he told them it was his 
opinion, and he was fully satisfied in it. After all, he desired them 
to give him the communion next morning. . They told him they 
could not do it, while he was in that error and sin. He said he was 
sorry for it. 

The next morning, he told them he had prayed that if he was 
in an error in that matter God would convince bim of it, but God 
had not convinced him, and therefore he believed it v/as no error. 

When he was upon the scaffold, he professed himself a Protes- 
tant of the Church of England. They told him he could not be 
so, if he did not own the doctrine of the church of England in the 
point of non-resistance, and if he persisted in that enthusiastic 
persuasion. He said he could not help it, but yet he approved the 
doctrine of the church in all other things. He then spoke to the 
people, in vindication of the lady Harriot, saying she was a woman 



146 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

of great honour and virtue, a religious godly lady (those were his 
words). They told him of his living in adultery with her. He said, 
no. For these two years last past he had not lived in any sin that 
he knew of; and that he had never wronged any person, and that 
he was sure when he died to go to God, and therefore he did not 
fear death, which (he said) they might see in his face. Then they 
prayed for him, and he knelt down and joined with them After 
all they had a short prayer for the king, at which he paused, but 
at last said Amen. 

He spoke to the headsman to see he did his business well, and 
not use him as he did the Lord Kussell, to give him two or three 
strokes ; for if he did, he should not be able to lie still without turn- 
ing. Then he gave the executioner 6 guineas, and 4 to one Marshall, 
a servant of Sir T. Armstrong's that attended him with the King's 
leave ; desiring Marshall to give them the executioner if he did 
his work well, and not otherwise. He gave this Marshall over 
night his ring and watch ; and now he gave him his case of pick- 
teeth : all for Lady Harriot, Then he laid himself down ; and 
npon the sign given, the headsman gave a light stroke, at which 
he looked him in the face ; then he laid him down again, and the 
headsman gave him two strokes more, and then laid down the ax3 
saying, he could not finish his work ; till being threatened by the 
Sheriff and others then present, he took up the axe again, and at 
two strokes more cut off his head. 

All this is true as to matter of fact, and it needs no comment 
your Lordship. I desire your prayers, and remain 

Your Lordship's most affectionate 

W. Asaph. 

xcvn. 

Tom Browne, once one of the most facetious and versatile of 
metropolitan scribblers, is scarcely remembered now. He had 
been, it is said, a schoolmaster at Kingston-on-Thames, but 
having been guilty of some indiscretion he had forfeited his 
ferule and set up in London as * a merry fellow.' His merriment 
is as a rule too coarse for modern taste, but the following letter 
is not unworthy of Elia — at his worst. Mr. Browne died in 1704. 

Tom Browne to a Lady who Smohed Tobacco, 

Madam, — Though the ill-natured world censures you for 
emoking, yet I would advise you, madam, not to part with so 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 147 

innocent a diversion. In the first place, it is healthful ; and, as 
Galen rightly observes, is a sovereign remedy for the toothache, 
the constant persecutor of old ladies. Secondly, tobacco, though it 
be a heathenish weed, it is a great help to Christian meditations ; 
which is the reason, I suppose, that recommends it to your parsons, 
the generality of whom can no more write a sermon without a pipe 
in their mouths, than a concordance in their hands ; besides, every 
pipe you break may serve to put you in mind of mortality, and 
show you upon what slender accidents man's life depends. I knew 
a dissenting minister who, on fast-days, used to mortify upon a 
rump of beef, because it put him, as he said, in mind that all flesh 
was grass; but, I am sure, much more is to be learnt from 
tobacco. It may instruct you that riches, beauty, and all the 
glories of the world, vanish like a vapoui*. Thirdly, it is a pretty 
plaything. Fourthly, and lastly, it is fashionable, at least 'tis in a 
fair way of becoming so. Cold tea, you know, has been a long 
while in reputation at court, and the gill as natui-ally ushers in the 
pipe, as the sword-bearer walks before the lord mayor. 



XCVIII. 

The brief life of Otway was embittered by his unrequited 
passion for Mrs. (Miss) Barry, the famous actress, for whom he 
wrote all those principal parts in his successive plays which 
were admitted to become her genius the best of any. She kept 
him in suspense for seven years, unwilling to marry or to dismiss 
him, to lose his services as a playwright or to accept him as a 
lover. The following letter was probably written at the close 
of this period, in 1682, when the brilliant success of * Venice 
Preserved ' had made him the first tragic poet and her the first 
" tragic actress of that age. 

Thomas Otway to Madam Barry. 

[1682.] 

Could I see you without passion, or be absent from you without 
pain, I need not beg your pardon for thus renewing my vows that 
I love you more than health, or any happiness here or hereafter. 
Everything you do is a new charm to me, and though I have 
languished for seven long tedious years of desire, jealously despair- 
ing, yet every minute I see you, I still discover something new and 
more betwitching. Consider how I love you ; what would I not 
renounce, or enterprise for you 1 I must have you mine, or I am 



148 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

miserable, and nothing but knowing which shall be the happy hour 
can make the rest of my years that are to come tolerable. Give 
me a word oi two of comfort, or resolve never to look with common 
goodness on me more^ for I cannot bear a kind look and after 
it a cruel denial. This minute my heart aches for you ; and, if 1 
cannot have a right in yours, I wish it would ache till I could 
complain to you no longer. 

Kemember poor Otway. 



XOIX. 

Mr. Ralph Thoresby, F.R.S., was a great collector of coins 
and manuscripts, and his antiquarian museum was considered 
almost the best private one in England. As an. antiquarian 
litterateur he was able to lend much help to his friends, notably 
Strype, Calamy, and Hearne, in the course of their ditterent 
publications. Two volumes of correspondence from literary 
men to Thoresby are published, from which a single specimen 
is extracted. It is an eloquent protest against the unbounded 
influence of filthy lucre. 

The Rev. George Plaxton to Ralph Thoresby. . 

October 1, 1709. 
Dear Kalpho, — Your last maintains an odd paradox, and you 
contradict the common usage of mankind. Do not all old people 
wipe their eyes with Jacobuses when they meet with them, as an 
opthalmique charm to mend the sight : but you tell me that gold 
blinds the eyes both of the godly and wicked, and casts such films 
before them that they cannot distinguish the colours of right and 
wrong. 1 know there are very strange powers in gold, and won- 
derful are the operations of that almighty metal ; it rules in 
church and state, court and camp, conventicle and cloister; it 
makes bishops and mars priests ; it blinds the eyes of justice, cor- 
rupts juries, and blunts the sword of the greatest generals; it is 
as arbitrary as the Mogul, as imperious as the Czar, as victorious 
as Eugene, and is able to conquer both Marlborough and his 
Ducliess ; it represents emperors, kings, and sovereign princes ; it 
is stamped with a powerful authority, and bears the impresses of 
Majesty, rule and greatness ; it is supreme in all dominions, domi- 
neers in all governments, swaggers in all corporations ; and whilst 
you maintain that it bhnds the eyes of too many, I aver that it 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 149 

only opens their optics, and shows tliem the way to shivery and 
foliy. 

The generality of mankind are its slaves and vassals, and it 
makes more conquasts than powder and bullet. Let you and me 
keep out of its reach, lest we become captives to its power and 
supremacy, lose our liberties and freedoms and turn idolaters in 
our declining years, as too many have done. As yet, I hope we 
are pretty free, and secure from its insults. Let us stand upon 
our guard, and rather conquer than yield to its force and power ; 
for it useth all its prisoners like galley-slaves, and keeps them in a 
perpetual drudgery ; it is an idolater in the Indies, a Jew all the 
world over, a Mahometan at Constaiitinople, a false Christian at 
Rome, and every thing in Great Britain ; what it is at Leeds your 
Aldermen can tell. I am sure it has little footing at Bar wick, 
where we are all poor Palatines and Camisars, i.e. hardly with a 
shii't. 

Adieu, my friend. I am 

Your's more than gold's. 



C. 

To Lawrence Hyde, created Earl of Rochester in 1682, Nell 
Gwynne caused to he dictated (for ' the indiscreetest and wildest 
of creatures' could not write herself) this sprightly and vulgar 
letter, which is puhHshed in the ' Camdeu Miscellany ' from Mr. 
Tite's collection of autographs. An editorial note says, ' It is 
scarcely possible to conceive a composition more characteristic 
both in style and contents than this most singular eftusion.' 

Nell Gwynne to Lavjrence Hyde, 

[Probably 1678.] 
Pray Deare M^* Hide forgive me for not writeing to you before 
now for the reasone is I have bin sick thre months and sinse I 
recovered I have had nothing to intertaine you withall nor have 
nothing now worth writing but that I can holde no longer to let 
you know I never have ben in any companie wethoat drinking 
yom* health for I love you with all my soule. The Pel Mel is 
now to me a dismale plase sinse I have uterly lost S^' Car Scupe 
never to be recovi-d agane. Mrs Knights ^ Lady mothers dead ct 

* Mrs Kuiglit, a rival of Nell Gwynne's at the Court of Charles II. 



150 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

she has put up a scutchin no beiger tlien my Lady Grins scuchins. 
My lord E-ochester is gon in the euntrie. Mr. Savil has got a mis- 
fortune, but is upon recovery & is to marry an hairres, who I 
thinke wont have an ill time on't if he holds up his thumb. My 
lord of Dorscit apiers wonse in thee munths, for he drinkes aile with 
Shad well and Mr Haris ^ at the Dukes house all day long. My 
Lord Burford ^ remimbers his sarvis to you. My Lord Bauclaire^ 
is goeing into franco, we are a goeing to supe with the king at 
Whithall k my lady Harvie. The king remembers his sarvis to 
you. now lets talke of state affairs, for we never caried things so 
cunningly as now for we dont know whether we shall have pesce 
or war, but I am for war and for no other reason but that you 
may come home. I have a thousand merry conseets, but I cant 
make her write um & therefore you must take the will for the deed, 
good bye. your most loveing obedunt faithfuU humbel 

Sarvant 
E. G. 



CI. 

From his house at the corner of Southampton Street, the 
site of the present British Museum, Sir Hans Sloane supplied 
hi« great friend Kay with hooks, specimens, aud every sort of 
intelligence which could be of service to him in his scientii&c 
observations. It is strange to find in the last year of the seven- 
teenth century such a spectacle as this tiger-fight publicly patro- 
nised by the elite of London. 

Sir Hans Sloane to John Ray. 

London : March 9, 1698-9. 
Sir, — This day a large tiger was baited by three beardogs, one 
after another. The first dog he killed ; the second was a match 
for him, and sometimes he had the better, sometimes the dog ; but 
the battle was at last drawn, and neither cared for engaging any 
farther. The third dog had likewise sometimes the better and 
sometimes the worse of it, and it came also to a di-awn battle. 
But the wisest dog of all was a fourth, that neither by fair means 
nor foul could be brought to go within reach of the tiger, who was 



* A great Shakespearean actor. 

^ Son of Nell Gwynne. 

■ Second son of Nell Gwynne. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 151 

chained in the middle of a large cockpit. The owner got about 
^300 for this show, the best seats being a guinea, and the worst five 
shillings. The tiger used his paws very much to cuff his adversaries 
with, and sometimes would exert his claws, but not often, using 
his jaws most, and aiming at under or upper sides of the neck, 
where wounds are dangerous. He had a fowl given him alive, 
which, by means of his feet and mouth, he very artfully first 
plucked and then eat ; the feathers, such as got into his mouth, 
being troublesome. The remainders of his drink in which he has 
lapped, is said by his keeper to kill dogs and other animals that 
drink after him, being by his foam made poisonous and ropy. I 
hope you will pardon this tedious narration, because I am apt to 
think it is very rare that such a battle happens, or such a fine tiger 
is seen here. 

I am, &c. 

on. 

An essential feature of the reign of Queen Anne was the 
invasion of literature by politics. Pamphlets and lampoons 
were the chief weapons of political warfare, and each political 
party had its special champions. This letter refers to Daniel 
De Foe's acceptance of an engagement to write for the Earl of 
Halifax. The most fertile author of his day, De Foe had always 
been an ardent polemicist, both in prose and doggrel ; and his 
hatred of the Stuarts and predisposition to Dissent kept his pen 
continually employed against Tories and Churchmen, and exposed 
him to ruinous fines, imprisonment, and the pillory. 

At the late age of fifty-eight he forsook pohtical tripotage, 
and began to write ' Robinson Crusoe,' and the novels which have 
immortahsed him. 

Daniel Be Foe to the Earl of Halifax. 

April 5, 1705. 

My Lord, — I most humbly thank your Lordship, for expres- 
sions of your favour and goodness which I had as little reason to 
expect from your Lordship as I have capassity to merit. 

My Lord Treasurer has frequently express'd himself with con- 
cern on my behalf, and M^ Secretary Harley the like j but I, my 
Lord, am like the Cripple at the Pool ; when the moment hap- 
pen'd, no man was at hand to put the wretch into the water : and 
my talent of sollicitation is absolutely a Cripple, and unquallifyed 
to help itself. 



152 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

I wish your Lordship could understand by my imperfect ex- 
pression the sense I have of your unexpected goodness in mention- 
ing me to my Lord Treasurer. I could be very well pleased to 
wait till your merit and the Nation's want of you shall place your 
Lordship in that part of the Publick aiFaires, where I might owe 
any benefitt I shall receive from it, to your goodness, and might be 
able to act something for your service, as well as that of the 
Publick. My Lord, the proposall your Lordship was pleas'd to 
make by my brother the bearer, is exceeding pleasant to me to 
perform, as well as usefull to be done, agreeable to every thing the 
masterly genius of your Lordship has produced in this age ; but my 
missfortune is, the bearer, whose head is not that way, has given 
me so imperfect an account, that makes me your Lordship's most 
humble petitioner for some hints to ground my observations upon. 

I was wholly ignorant of the design of that act, not knowing it 
had such a noble originall. Pardon my importunate application to 
your Lordship for some hints of the substance and design of that 
act, and if your Lordship please the names again of some book? 
which my dull messenger forgott, and which your Lordship was 
pleas'd to say had spoke to this head. 

I the rather press your Lordship on this head, because the very 
next Article which of course I proposed to enter upon in the 
Review being that of paper credit, I shall at once do myself the 
honour to obey your Lordship's dictate, and observe the stated 
order of the discourse I am upon. I shall not presume to offer it 
against your Lordship's opinion, and would be farthest of all from 
exposing your Lordship to any tongues ] but if ever your Lordship 
shall think this despicable thing, who scorn'd to come out of 
Newgate at the price of betraying a dead Master, or discovering 
those things which no body would have been the worse for, fitt to 
be trusted in your presence, tho' never so much incognito, he will 
certainly, exclusive of what he may communicate to your Lordship 
for the publick service, receive from you such instructions as are 
suitable to your known genius, and the benefitt of the Nation. 

I have herewith sent your Lordship another book ; I know 
your Lordship has but a few minutes to spare, but I am your 
Lordship's humble petitioner, to bestow an hour on its contents, 
because it is likely to make some noise in the world, and perhaps 
to come before your Lordship in Parliament. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 153 

I forbear to divert your more serious thoughts, which particu- 
lars I humbly thank your Lordship for the freedom of access you 
were pleas'd to give my messenger, and am extreamly ambitious of 
listing myself under your Lordship, in that cause, in which your 
Lordship was allwayes embarkt, viz, of Truth and Liberty. 

I am, 

May it please your Lordship, 
Your Lordship's 
Most humble and obed' Serv*, 

D. Foe. 



cm. 

This letter of thanks is in De Foe's best manner. 

Daniel De Foe to the Earl of Halifax. 

[1705.] 

Pardon me my Lord, — If to a man that has seen nothing for 
some yeares, but the rough face of things, the exceeding goodness 
of your Lordship's discourse softned me even to a weakness I could 
not conceal. 

'Tis a novelty, my Lord, I have not been us'd to, to receive 
obligations from persons of your Lordship's character and merit, 
nor indeed from any part of the world, and the return is a task too 
hard for me to undertake. 

I am, my Lord, a plain and impolish'd man, and perfectly un- 
quallified to make formall acknowledgements ; and a temper sour'd 
by a series of afflictions, renders me still the more awkward in the 
received method of common gratitude, I mean the ceremony of 
thanks. 

But, my Lord, if to be encourag'd in giveing myself up to that 
service your Lordship is pleas'd so much to overvallue, if going on 
with the more cheerfnilness in being usefull to, and promoteing the 
generall peace and interest of this nation, if to the last vigorously 
opposeing a stupid distracted Party, that are for ruinmg them- 
selves rather than not destroy their neighbour, if this be to merit 
so much regard, your Lordship binds me in the most durable and 
to me the most pleasant engagement in the world, because 'tis a 
service that, with my gratitude to your Lordship, keeps an exact 



154 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

unison with my reason, my principle, my inclination, and the duty 
every man owes to his country, and his posterity. 

Thus, my Lord, Heavenly bounty engages mankind, while the 
commands are so far from being grievous, that at the same time 
we obey, we promote our own felicity, and joyn the reward to 
the duty. 

As to the exceeding bounty I have now received, and which 
your Lordship obliges me to reserve my acknowledgements of for a 
yet unknown benefactor. Pardon me, my Lord, to believe your 
Lordship's favour to me has at least so much share in the conduct 
of it, if not in the substance, that I am persuaded I cannot be more 
oblidged to the donor, than to your Lordship' singular goodness, 
which tho' I can not deserve, yet I shall all ways sensibly reflect 
on, and improve. And I should be doubly blest, if providence 
would put it into my hands, to render your Lordship some service 
suited to the sence I have of your Lordship's extraordinary favour. 

And yet I am your Lordship's most humble petitioner, that if 
possible I may know the originalls of this munificence, sure that 
hand that can suppose me to merit so much regard, must believe 
me fitt to be trusted with the knowledge of my benefactor,' and un- 
capable of discovering any part of it, that should be conceal'd ; but 
I submitt this to your Lordship and the persons concern'd. I 
frankly acknowledge to your Lordship, and to the unknown 
rewarders of my mean performances, that I do not see the merit 
they are thus pleas'd to valine ; the most I wish and which I hope 
I can answer for is, that T shall all way es -preserve the homely 
despicable title of an honest man. If this will recommend me, 
ycur Lordship shall never be asham'd of giving me that title, nor 
my enemys be able by fear or reward to make me otherwise. 

In all things I justly apprehend your Lordship's disappoint- 
ment, and that your Lordship will find little else in me worth your 
notice. I am. 

May it please your Lordship, 

Your Lordship's highly obliged, 
Most humble and most 
obed* serv* 

Daniel De Foe. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 155 



CIV. 

How perfectly unmoved was the famous Dr. Ricliard Bent- 
ley — how conscious of success, and liow thoroughly he despised 
his adversaries, when about to send to press his final reply in 
the ' Boyle and Bentley ' controversy (the fiercest of the lite- 
rary contests of the seventeenth century), -vsdll be seen in this 
brief and interesting letter. He is not merely intending to settle the 
question of the disputed authorship of the ^ Epistles of Phalaris,' 
but to prove that the collected strength of Christchurch, Oxford, 
superadded to that of Dr. Atterbury, Dean Swift, and other 
scholars, was only able to assail him by writing a * shallow 
book.' 

Dr. Richard Bentley to John Evelyn. 

Trinity College, Cambridge : April 21, 1698. 
Honoured Friend, — I cannot express to you how kindly I 
receive your Letter ; and what a trial of true friendship I esteem 
it, that, at that distance from me, among the cry of such as are 
concerned as a Party to run me down, you alone would stand up 
for me, and expect till you heard alteram partem, as your inscrip- 
tion well expresses it. As for my friends that are here upon the 
spot, and can ask me questions, they are long ago satisfied that the 
Book ^ is not so formidable as the authors of it believed it. But I 
am content, nay desirous, to have it pass for an unanswerable 
piece ; for it will be the more surprising and glorious to confute it ; 
which (if you'll take my word and keep my counsel) I shall do 
with that clearness and fulness in every particular, great and little, 
both points of Learning and points of Fact, that the authors will 
be ashamed, if any shame can be expected in them, after this pre- 
sent Specimen. I have almost finished already, and near the end 
of the month I shall be a putting it to the press ; for I need not 
nine months, as they have had, to confute so shallow a Book, that 
has nothing in it, but a little Wit, Satii'e and Baillery, that puts it 
off among half-leai'ned readers. 

I am, yours affectionately 

Richard Bentley. 

' Dr. Bentley's Dissertations on tlie Epistles of PJialai'is and the Fables 
of ^sopy examined by the Hon, Charles Boyle. 



156 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600 



ov. 

To students of tlieology this letter will have a special interest. 
Dr. Bentley is propounding to Archbisliop Wake his plan for 
preparing a new critical edition of the Greek Testament. During 
four years (1716-1720), he laboured diligently in collating the 
Alexandrine and Beza manuscripts in England and in putting 
foreign MSS. under contribution, but for reasons, which have 
not been satisfactorily explained, the work was never published, 
although a subscription in aid of it was collected. 

Br, Bentley to the Archhisliop of Canterbury. 

Trinity College, Cambridge : April 15, 1716. 

May it please your Grace, — 'Tis not only your Grace's station 
and general character, but the particular knowledge I have of you, 
which encourages me to give you a long letter about those un- 
fashionable topics, Religion and learning. Your Grace knows, as 
well as any, what an alarm has been made of late years with the 
vast heap of Various Lections found in MSS. of the Greek Testa- 
ment. The Papists have made a great use of them against the 
Protestants, and the Atheists against them, both. This was one of 
Collins's topics in his Discourse on Freethinking, which I took 
off in my short answer ; and I have heard since from several 
hands, that that short view I gave of the causes and necessity and 
use of Various Lections, made several good men more easy in that 
matter than they were before. But since that time I have fallen 
into a course of studies that led me to peruse many of the oldest 
MSS. of the Greek Testament and of the Latin too of St. Jerom^ 
of which there are several in England, a full thousand years old. 
The result of which has been, that I find I am able (what some 
thought impossible) to give an edition of the Greek Testament 
exactly as it was in the best exemplars at the time of the Council 
of Nice ; so that there shall not be twenty words, nor even par- 
ticles, difference ; and this shall carry its own demonstration in 
every verse, which I affirm cannot be so done of any other ancient 
book, Greek or Latin ; so that that book, which, by the present 
management, is thought the most uncertain, shall have a testimony 
of certainty above all other books whatever, and an end be put at 
once to all Various Lections now or hereafter. 

I'll give your Grace the progress which brought me by degrees 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 157 

into tiie present view and scheme that I have of a new edition. 
Upon some points of curiosity I collated one or two of St. Paul'sf 
Epistles with the Alexandrian MS., the oldest and best now in the 
world : I was surprised to find several transpositions of words, 
that Mills and the other collators took no notice of ; but I soon 
found their way was to mark nothing but change of words ; the 
collocation and order they entirely neglected; and yet at sight 
I discerned what a new force and beauty this new order (I found 
in the MS.) added to the sentence. This encouraged me to collate 
the whole book over to a letter, with my own hands. There is 
another MS. at Paris of the same age and character with this ; 
but, meeting with worse usage, it was so decayed by age, that five 
hundred years ago it served the Greeks for old vellum, and they 
writ over the old brown capitals a book of Ephi'aim Syrus ; but 
so that even now, by a good eye and a skilful person, the old 
^\Titing may be read under the new. One page of this for a 
specimen is printed in copper cut in Lamie's Harmony of the 
Evangelists. Out of this, by an able hand, I have had above two 
hundred lections given me from the present printed Greek ; and 
I was surprised to find that almost all agreed both in word and 
order with our noble Alexandrian. Some more experiments in 
other old copies have discovered the same agreement ; so that I 
dare say, take all the Greek Testaments surviving, that are not 
occidental with Latin too, like our Beza's at Cambridge, and that 
are a thousand years old, and they'l so agree together that of the 
thirty thousand present Yai-ious Lections there are not there found 
two hundred. 

The Western Latin copies by variety of Translators without 
public appointment, and a jumble and heap of all of them, were 
grown so uncertain, that scarce two copies were alike; which 
obliged Damasus, then Bishop of Bome, to employ St. Jerom to 
regulate the best-received translation of each part of the New 
Testament to the original Greek ; and so set out a new edition, so 
castigated and corrected. This he declares in his preface he did 
ad Groicam veritatem, ad exemplaria Grceca, sed Vetera ; and his 
learning, great name, and just authority, extinguished all the other 
Latin versions, and has been conveyed down to us, under the name 
of the Yulgate. 'Twas plain to me, that when that copy came 
first from that great Father's hands, it must agree exactly with the 



158 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

most authentic Greek exemplars ; and if now it could be retrieved, 
it would be the best test and voucher for the true reading out of 
several pretending ones. But when I came to try Pope Clement's 
Vulgate, I soon found the Greek of the Alexandrian and that 
would by no means pary. This set me to examine the Pope's Latin 
by some MSS. of a thousand years old ; and the success is, that 
the old Greek copies and the old Latin so exactly agree (when an 
able hand discerns the rasures and the old lections lying under 
them), that the pleasure and satisfaction it gives me is beyond 
expression. 

The New Testament has been under a hard fate since the 
invention of printing. After the Complutenses and Erasmus, who 
had but very ordinary MSS. it has become the property of book- 
sellers. Robert Stephens's edition, set out and regulated by him- 
self alone, is now become the standard. That text stands, as if an 
apostle was his compositor. No heathen author has had such ill 
fortune. 

Terence, Ovid, etc. for the first century after printing, went 
about with twenty thousand errors in them. But when learned 
men undertook them, and from the oldest MSS. set out correct 
editions, those errors fell and vanished. But if they had kept to 
the first published text, and set the Various Lections only in the 
margin, those classic authors would be as clogged with variations 
as Dr. Mills's Testament is. 

Pope Sixtus and Clemens at a vast expense had an assembly of 
learned divines, to recense and adjust the Latin Vulgate, and then 
enacted their new edition authentic ; but I find, though I have 
not yet discovered anything done dolo malo, they were quite un- 
equal to the affair. They were mere Theologi, had no experience 
in MSS., nor made use of good Greek copies, and followed books 
of five hundred years before those of double [that] age. Nay, I 
believe they took these new ones for the older of the two; for it 
is not everybody knows the age of a manuscript. 

I am already tedious, and the post is a going. So that, to 
conclude, in a word, I find that by taking two thousand errors out 
of the Pope's Vulgate, and as many out of the Protestant Pope 
Stephens's, I can set out an edition of each in columns, without 
using any book under nine hundred years old, that shall so exactly 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 159 

agree word for word, and, what at first amazed me, order for 
order, that no two tallies nor two indentures can agree better. 

I affirm that these so placed will prove each other to a 
demonstration ; for I alter not a letter of my own head without the 
authority of these old witnesses. And the beauty of the compo- 
sition (barbarous, God knows, at present), is so improved, as makes 
it more worthy of a revelation, and yet not one text of consequence 
injured or weakened. 

My Lord, if a casual fire should take either his Majesty's 
library, or the King's of France, ail the world could not do this. 
As I have therefore great impulse, and I hope not uOzel to set 
about this work immediately, and leave it as a Kf.ifx^Xiuv to posterity, 
against Atheists and Infidels, I thought it my duty and my honour 
to first acquaint your Grace with it ; and know if the extrinsic 
expense necessary to do such a work compleatly (for my labour I 
reckon nothing) may obtain any encouragement, either from the 
Crown or Public. 

I am, with all duty and obedience 

Your Grace's most humble servant 

Ri. Bentley. 



CVI. 

William III. had promised Sir William Temple that Dr. 
Swift should have the first vacancy which might happen among 
the prebends of Westminster or Canterbury, and reference is 
made to this promise in the following letter soliciting preferment 
at the hands of Lord Halifax. 

This Minister died a year before a vacancy occurred, and 
Swift, who really never enjoyed the full measm'e of Ministerial 
confidence, was disappointed. Most of the future Dean of St. 
Patrick's English admirers preferred to acknowledge his claims 
at a distance ; for the partial welcome he received in Eng- 
land was the natural result of his patronising airs and overbear- 
ing manners. 

Dr. Swift to the Earl of Halifax. 

Leicester : January 13, 1709, 
My Lord, — Before I leave this place (where ill health has 
detained me longer than I intended) I thought it my duty to 
return your Lordship my acknowledgments for all your favors 
to me while I was in town ; and, at the same time, to beg some 
share in your Lordship's memory, and the continuance of your 



160 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

protection. You were pleased to promise me yoiir good offices 
upon occasion ; which I humbly challenge in two particulars ; one 
is that you will sometimes put my Lord President in mind of me ; 
the other is, that your Lordship will duly once every year wish me 
removed to England. In the mean time, I must take leave to 
reproach your Lordship for a most inhuman piece of cruelty ; for 
I can call your extreme good usage of me no better, since it has 
taught me to hate the place where I am banished, and raised my 
thoughts to an imagination, that I might live to be some way 
usefull or entertaining, if I were permitted to live in Town, or 
(which is the highest punishment on Papists) any where within ten 
miles round it. You remember very well, my Lord, how another 
person of quality in Horace's time, used to serve a sort of 
fellows who had disobliged him ; how he sent them fine cloaths, 
and money, which raised their thoughts and their hopes, till those 
were worn out and spent, and then they were ten times more 
miserable than before. Hac ego si compellar imagine, cuncta resigno. 
I could cite several other passages from the same author, to my 
purpose ; and whatever is applyed to Maecenas I will not thank 
your Lordship for accepting, because it is what you have been 
condemned to these twenty years by every one of us, qui se melent 
(£ avoir de Vesprit. I have been studying how to be revenged of 
your Lordship, and have found out the way. They have in Ireland 
the same idea with us of your Lordship's generosity, magnificence, 
witt, judgment, and knowledge in the enjoyment of life. But I shall 
quickly undeceive them, by letting them plainly know that you 
have neither Interest nor Fortune which you can call your own ; 
both having been long made over to the Corporation of deserving 
Men in Want, who have appointed you their advocate and steward, 
which the world is pleas'd to call Patron and Protector. I shall 
inform them, that my self and about a dozen others kept the best 
table in England, to which because we admitted your Lordship in 
common with us, made you our manager, and sometimes allowed 
you to bring a friend, therefore ignorant people would needs take 
You to be the Owner. And lastly, that you are the most injudicious 
person alive ; because, though you had fifty times more witt than 
all of us together, you never discover the least value for it, but are 
perpetually countenancing and encouraging that of others. I could 
add a great deal more, but shall reserve the rest of my threatnings 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 161 

till further provocation. In the mean time I demand of your 
Lordship thfe justice of believing me to be with the greatest 
respect, 

My Lord, 
Your Lordship's most obedient and 

most obliged humble servant 

Jon. Swift. 

Pray, my Lord, desire T>^ South to dy about the fall of the 
Leaf, for he has a Prebend of Westminister, which will make me 
your neighbor, and a sine-cure in the Country, both in the Queen's 
gift, which my friends have often told me would fitt me extremely ; 
and forgive me one word, which I know not what extorts from me ; 
that if my Lord President would in such a juncture think me worth 
laying any weight of his Credit, you cannot but think me per- 
suaded that it would be a very easy matter to compass : and I have 
some sort of pretence, since the late King promised me a Prebend 
of Westminster, when T petitioned him in pursuance of a recom- 
mendation I had from Sir William Temple. 

For the Right Honourable 

the Lord Halifax, at his House 
in the New Palace-yard in Westminster. 
London. 

ovn. 

This account of the French Ahh^ Guiscard's attempt to 
assassinate Harley was written within an hour or two of the 
event it describes. 

Dean Swift to Archbishop King. 

London : March 8, 1711. 
My Lord, — I write to your grace under the gi-eatest disturb- 
ance of mind for the public and myself. . A gentleman came in 
where I dined this afternoon, and told us Mr. Harley was stabbed, 
and some confused particulars. I immediately ran to secretary 
St. John's hard by, but nobody was at home ; I met Mrs. St. John 
in her chair, who could not satisfy me, but was in pain about the 
secretary, who, as she had heard, had killed the murderer. I went 
straight to Mr. Harley's where abundance of people were to inquire. 
1 got young Mr. Harley to me : he said his father was asleep, and 



162 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

they hoped in no danger, and then told me the fact, as I shall 
relate it to your grace. This day the Marquis de Guis-card was 
taken up for high treason, by a warrant of Mr. St. John, and 
examined before a Committee of Council in Mr. St. John's office ; 
where was present the dukes of Ormond, Buckingham, Shrewsbury, 
earl Powlett, Mr. Harley, Mr. St. John, and others. During 
examination, Mr. Harley observed Guis-card, who stood behind 
him, but on one side, swearing, and looking disrespectfully. He told 
him he ought to behave himself better while he was examined for 
such a crime. Guis-card immediately drew a penknife out of his 
pocket, which he had picked out of some of the offices, and, reach- 
ing round, stabbed him just under the breast a little to the right 
side ; but it pleased God that the point stopped at one of the ribs, 
and broke short half an inch. Immediately Mr. St. John rose, 
drew his sword, and ran it into Guis-card's breast. Five or six 
more of the Council drew and Stabbed Guis-card in several places : 
but the earl Powlett called out, for God's sake, to spare Guis- 
card's life, that he might be made an example ; and Mr. St. John's 
sword was taken from him and broke ; and the footman without 
ran in, and bound Guis-card, who begged he might be killed imme- 
diately ; and, they say called out three or four times, ' My lord 
Ormond ! My lord Ormond ! ' They say Guis-card resisted them 
a while, until the footman came in. Immediately Bucier, the 
sui'geon, was sent for, who dressed Mr. Harley ; and he was sent 
home. The wound bled fresh, and they do not apprehend him in 
danger : he said, when he came home, he thought himself in none ; 
and, when I was there he was asleep, and they did not find him at 
all feverish. He has been ill this week, and told me last Saturday 
he found himself much out of order, and has been abroad but 
twice since ; so that the only danger is, lest his being out of order 
should, with the wound put him in a fever ; and I shall be in a 
mighty pain till to-morrow morning. I went back to poor Mrs. 
St. John, who told me her husband was with my Lord-keeper [sir 
Simon Harcourt] at Mr. Attorney's, [sir John Trevor] and she 
said something to me very remarkable : ' That going to-day to pay 
her duty to the queen, when all the men and ladies were dressed to 
make their appearance, this being the day of the queen's accession, 
the lady of the bedchamber in waiting told her the queen had not 
been at church, and saw no company ; yet, when she inquired her 



1700 J ENGLISH LETTERS. ' 163 

health, they said she was veiy well, only had a little cold.* We 
conceive the queen's reasons for not going out might be something 
about this seizing of Guis-card for high treason, and that perhaps 
there was some plot, or something extraordinary. Your grace 
must have heard of this Guis-card : he fled from France for villanieB 
there, and was thought on to head an invasion of that kingdom, 
but was not liked. I know him well, and think him a fellow of 
little consequence, although of some cunning and much villany. 
.We passed by one another this day in the Mall, at two o'clock, 
an hour before be was taken up ; and I wondered he did not speak 
to me. 

I write all this to your grace, because I believe you would 
desire to know a true account of so important an accident ; and 
besides, I know you will have a thousand false ones ; and I believe 
every material circumstance here is true, having it from young 
Mr. Harley. I met sir Thomas Mansel (it was then after six this 
evening,) and he and Mr. Prior told me they had just seen Guis- 
card carried by in a chair, with a strong guard, to Newgate or the 
Press-yard. Time perhaps will show who was at the bottom of 
all this ; but nothing could happen so unluckily to England, at 
this juncture, as Mr. Harley's death ; when he has all the schemes 
for the gi-eatest part of the supplies in his head, and the pai-liament 
cannot stir a step without him. Neither can I altogether forget 
myself, who, in him, should lose a person I have more obligations 
to than any other in this kingdom ; who has always treated me 
with the tenderness of a parent, and never refused me any favour I 
asked for a friend ; therefore I hope your grace will excuse the 
disorder of this letter. I was intending, this night, to write one 
of another sort. I must needs say, one great reason for writing 
these particulars to your gi-ace was, that you might be able to give 
a true account of the fact, which will be some sort of service to 
M'^ Harley. I am with the greatest respect, my lord, your grace's 
most dutiful, and most humble servant, 

Jonathan Swift. 

I have read over what I writ, and find it confused and incorrect, 
which your grace must impute to the violent pain of mind I am 
in, greater than ever I felt in my life. It must have been the 
utmost height of desperate guilt which could have spirited that 



164 * ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

wretch to such an action. I have not heard whether his wounds 
are dangerous; but I pray God he may recover to receive his 
reward, and that we may learn the bottom of his villany. It is 
not above ten days ago that I was interceding with the secretary 
in his behalf, because I heard he was just starving ; but the secre- 
tary assured me he had 400£ a-year pension. 



CVIII. 

This singularly impressive and eloquent letter was addressed 
to Lord Oxford on the occasion of the death of his daughter, the 
Marchioness of Carmarthen, after her confinement Nov. 20, 1713, 
aged twenty-eight. It does far more honour to the great Dean 
than any of those more pretentious satirical compositions which 
are in everybody's hands, and which have made his name im- 
mortal. 

Dean Swift to Lord-Treasurer Oxford. 

November 21, 1713. 
My Lord, — Your lordship is the person in the world to whom 
everybody ought to be silent upon such an occasion as this, which 
is only to be supported by the greatest wisdom and streng-th of 
mind : wherein, God knows, the wisest and best of us, who would 
presume to offer their thoughts, are far your inferiors. It is true, 
indeed, that a great misfortune is apt to weaken the mind and dis- 
turb the understanding. This, indeed, might be of some pretence 
to us to administer our consolations, if we had been wholly 
strangers to the person gone. But, my lord, whoever had the 
honour to know her, wants a comforter as much as your lordship : 
because, though their loss is not so great, yet they have not the 
same firmness and prudence to support the want of a friend, a 
patroness, a benefactor, as you have to support that of a daughter. 
My lord, both religion and reason forbid me to have the least con- 
cern for that lady's death upon her own account ; and he must be 
an ill Christian, or a perfect stranger to her virtues, who would 
not wish himself, with all submission to God Almighty's will, in 
her condition. But your lordship, who has lost such a daughter, 
and we, who have lost such a friend, and the world, which has lost 
such an example, have, in oui' several degrees, greater cause to 
lament than perhaps was ever given by any private person before : 
for, my lord, I have sat down to think of every amiable quality 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 165 

that could enter into the composition of a lady, and could not single 
out one wliich she did not possess in as high a perfection as human 
natui'e is capable of. But as to your lordship's own particular, as 
it is an inconceivable misfortune to have lost such a daughter, so it 
is a possession which few can boast of to have had such a daughter. 
I have often said to your lordship ' That I never knew any one by 
many degrees so happy in their domestics as you ; ' and I affirm you 
are so still, though not by so many degrees : from whence it is 
. very obvious that your lordship should reflect upon what you have 
left, and not upon Avhat you have lost. 

To say the truth, my lord, you began to be too happy for a 
mortal ; much more happy than is usual with the dispensations of 
Providence long to continue. You had been the great instrument 
of preserving your country from foreign and domestic ruin : you 
have had the felicity of establishing your family in the greatest 
lustre, without any obligation to the bounty of your prince, or any 
industry of your own : you have triumphed over the violence and 
treachery of your enemies by your courage and abilities : and, by 
the steadiness of your temper, over the inconstancy and caprice of 
your friends. Perhaps your lordship has felt too much com- 
placency within yourself upon this universal success : and God 
Almighty, who would not disappoint your endeavours for the 
public, thought fit to punish you with a domestic loss, where he 
knew your heart was most exposed ; and, at the same time, has 
fulfilled his own wise purposes, by rewarding in a better life that 
excellent creature he has taken from you. 

I know not, my lord, why I write this to you, nor hardly what 
I am writing. I am siu-e it is not from any compliance with form ; 
it is not from thinking that I can give your lordship any ease. I 
think it was an impulse upon me that I should say something : 
and whether I shall send you what I have written I am yet in 
doubt. 

Jonathan Swift. 

CIX. 

This is perhaps the most beautiful to he found among the 
printed letters of Swift. The unusual tenderness of its tone 
may he attributed to the great domestic calamity which the 
writer was almost every hour fearing would befall himself — the 
death of SteUa. 



166 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600- 



Decm Swift to Mrs. Moore. 

Deanery House : December 27, 1727. 
Dear Madam, — Though I see you seldomer than is agreeable to 
my indinations, yet you have no friend in the world that is more 
concerned for anything that can affect your mind, your health, or 
your fortune : I have always had the highest esteem for your 
virtue, the greatest value for your conversation, and the truest 
affection for your person ; and therefore cannot but heartily con- 
dole with you for the loss of so amiable, and (what is more) so 
favourite a child. These are the necessary consequences of too strong 
attachments, by which we are grieving ourselves with the death of 
those we love, as we must one day grieve those who love us with 
the death of ourselves. For life is a tragedy, wherein we sit as spec- 
tators awhile, and then act our own part in its self-love, as it is the 
motive to all our actions, so it is the sole cause of our grief. The 
dear person you lament is by no means an object of pity, either in 
a moral or religious sense. Philosophy always taught me to 
despise life, as a most contemptible thing in itself; and religion 
regards it only as a preparation for a better, which you are taught 
to be certain that so innocent a person is now in possession of ; so 
that she is an immense gainer, and you and her friends the only 
losers. Now, under misfortunes of this kind, I know no consola- 
tion more effectual to a reasonable person than to reflect rather 
upon what is left than what is lost. She was neither an only 
child nor an only daughter. You have three children left, one 
(Charles Devenisb, Esq.) of them of an age to be useful to his 
family, and the two others as promising as can be expected from 
heir age ; so that, according to the general dispensations of God 
Almighty, you have small reason to repine upon that article of 
life. And religion will tell you that the true way to preserve 
them is, not to fix any of them too deep in your heart, which is a 
weakness that God seldom leaves long unpunished : common 
observation showing us that such favourite children are either 
spoiled by their parents' indulgence, or soon taken out of the 
world ; which last is, generally speaking, the lighter punishment 
of the two. God, in his wisdom, hath been pleased to load our 
declining years with many sufferings, with, diseases and distress of 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS 167 

nature; with the death of many friends, and the ingratitude of 
more; sometimes with the loss or diminution of our fortunes, 
when our infirmities most need them ; often with contempt from 
the world, and always with neglect from it ; with the death of 
our most hopeful or useful children ; with a want of relish for all 
worldly enjoyments ; with a general dislike of persons and things ; 
and though all these are very natural effects of increasing years, 
yet they were intended by the author of our being to Avean us gra- 
. dually from our fondness of life, the nearer w^e approach toward 
the end of it. And this is the use you are to make in prudence, 
as well as in conscience, of all the afflictions you have hitherto un- 
dergone, as well as of those which in the course of nature and provi- 
dence you have reason to expect. May God, who hath endowed you 
with so many virtues, add strength of mind and reliance upon his 
mercy, in proportion to your present sufferings, as well as those he 
may think fit to try you with through the remainder of your life. 
I fear my present ill disposition, both of health and mind, has 
made me but a sorry comforter : however it will show that no cir- 
cumstance of life can put you out of my mind, and that I am, with 
the truest respect, esteem, and friendship, dear Madam, your most 
obedient and humble servant, 

Jonathan Swift. 



ex. 

In this letter which refers to the writer's celebrated party- 
history entitled ' The Four Last Years of Queen Anne's Reign,' 
Swift recalls the particulars of the quarrels between Lords 
Oxford and Bolingbroke in 1713-1714. Interesting historically, 
it is scarcely less interesting from a literary point of view. 
* There is,' says Lord Stanhope, ' something very mournful and 
affecting in the tone of these recollections of his friends.' He 
might have added, and something very charming in the mellow 
beauty of the composition. 

Dean Swift to the Earl of Oxford. 

June 14, 1737. 
My Lord, — I had the honour of a letter from your lordship, 
dated April the 7th which I was not prepared to answer until this 
time. Your lordship must needs have known that the history you 
mention of the ' Four last years of the Queen's Keign,' was written 
at Windsor, just upon finishing the peace ; at which time your 



168 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

father and my lord Bolingbroke had a misunderstanding witli each 
other that was attended with very bad consequences. When I 
came to Ireland to take this deanery (after the peace was made) I 
could not stay here above a fortnight being recalled by a hundred 
letters to hasten back, and to use my endeavours in reconcihng 
those ministers. I left them the history you mention, which I 
finished at Windsor, to the time of the peace. When I returned to 
England I found their quarrels and coldness increased. I laboured 
to reconcile them as much as I was able : I contrived to brmg 
them to my lord Masham's, at St. James's. My lord and lady 
Masham left us together. I expostulated with them both, but 
could not find any good consequences. I was to go to Windsor 
next day with my Lord- treasurer ; I pretended business that pre- 
vented me : expecting they would come to some. . . . But I 
followed them to Windsor ; where my lord Bolingbroke told me 
that my scheme had come to nothing. Things went on at the same 
rate ', they grew more estranged every day. My lord-treasurer 
found his credit daily declining. In May before the queen died 
I had my last meeting with them at my lord Masham's. He left 
us together ; and therefore I spoke very freely to them both ' and 
told them ' I would retire, for I found all was gone.' Lord Boling- 
broke whispered me, ' I was in the right.' Your father said ' All 
would do well.' I told him ' that I would go to Oxford on Monday, 
since I found it was impossible to be of any use.' I took coach 
to Oxford on Monday ; went to a friend in Berkshire there 
stayed until the queen's death ; and then to my station here 
where I stayed twelve years, and never saw my lord your father 
afterward. They could not agree about printing the ' History of 
the Four last Years : ' and therefore I have kept it to this time 
when I determine to publish it in London, to the confusion of 
all those rascals who have accused the queen and that ministry of 
making a bad peace ; to which that party entirely owes the pro- 
testant succession. I was then in the greatest trust and confidence 
with your father the lord-treasurer, as well as with my lord 
Bolingbroke, and all others who had part in the administration. 
I had all the letters from the secretary's office during the treaty of 
peace : out of those, and what I learned from the ministry, I formed 
that history, which I am now going to publish for the information 
of posterity, and to control the most impudent falsehoods which 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 169 

have been published since. I wanted no kind of materials. I 
knew your father better than you could at that tirae ; and I do 
impartially think him the most virtuous minister and the most 
able that I ever remembered to have read of. If your lordship has 
any particular circumstances that may fortify what I have said in 
the history, such as letters or materials, I am content they should 
be printed at the end by way of appendix. I loved my lord your 
father better than any other man in the world, although I had 
no obligation to him on the score of preferment; having been 
driven to this wretched kingdom, to which I was almost a stranger, 
by his want of power to keep me in what I ought to call my own 
country, although I happened to be dropped here, and was a year 
old before I left it ; and, to my sorrow, did not die before I came 
back to it again. I am extremely glad of the felicity you have in 
your alliance ; and desire to present my most humble respects to 
my lady Oxford and your daughter the duchess. As to the history, 
it is only of affairs which I know very well, and had all the 
advantages possible to know, when you were in some sort but a 
lad. One great design of it is, to do justice to the ministry at 
that time, and to refute all the objections against them, as if they 
had a design of bringing in popery and the pretender : and 
further to demonstrate that the present settlement of the crown 
was chiefly owing to my lord your father. I can never expect to 
see England : I am now too old and too sickly, added to almost a 
perpetual deafness and giddiness. I live a most domestic life : I 
want nothing that is necessary ; but I am in a cursed, factious, 
oppressed, miserable country ; not made so by nature, but by the 
slavish, hellish principles of an execrable prevailing faction in it. 
Farewell, my lord. I have tired you and myself. I desire 
again to present my most humble respects to my lady Oxford and 
the duchess your daughter. Pray God preserve you long and 
happy ! I shall diligently inquire into your conduct from those 
who will tell me. You have hitherto continued right : let me hear 
that you persevere so. Your task will not be long ; for I am not 
in a condition of health or time to trouble this world, and I am 
heartily weary of it already ; and so should be in England, which 
I hear is fall as corrupt as this poor enslaved country. I am, with 
the truest love and respect, my lord, your lordship's most obedient 
and most obliged, &c. 

Jonathan Swift. 



170 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 



CXI. 

Dr. John Arbuthnot, Physician in ordinary to Queen Anne, 
and one of the most accomplished wits of our Aug-ustau age, was 
"born 1667. He was the intimate friend of Pope, Swift, and 
Bolinghroke, and was fortunate in attaining the double reputa- 
tion of eminence in a professional career, and a place of distinc- 
tion among contemporary writers and wits. He contributed his 
share of those squibs and political tracts which marked the 
parliamentary party-warfare of the last years of Queen Anne's 
reign. 

Dr. Arhuthnot to Dean Svnft. 

Hampstead : October 4, 1734. 

My Dear and Worthy Friend, — You have no reason to put me 
among the rest of your forgetful friends; for I wrote two long 
letters to you, to which I never received one word of answer. The 
first was about your health : the last I sent a great while ago by 
one De la Mar. I can assure you with gi^eat truth that none of 
your friends or acquaintance has a more warm heart toward you 
than myself. I am going out of this troublesome world ; and you 
among the rest of my friends shall have my last prayers and good 
wishes. 

The young man whom you recommended came to this place, 
and I promised to do him what service my ill state of health would 
permit. I came out to this place so reduced by a dropsy and an 
asthma that I could neither sleep, breathe, eat, nor move. I most 
earnestly desired and begged of God that he would take me. Con- 
trary to my expectation, upon venturing to ride (which I had for- 
borne for some years, because of bloody water) I recovered my 
strength to a pretty considerable degree, slept, and had my stomach 
again ; but I expect the return of my symptoms upon my return 
to London, and the return of the winter. I am not in circum- 
stances to live an idle country life ; and no man at my age ever 
recovered of such a disease further than by an abatement of the 
symptoms. What I did I can assure you was not for life but ease. 
For I am at present in the case of a man that was almost in har- 
bour, and then blown back to sea ; who has a reasonable hope of 
going to a good place, and an absolute certainty of leaving a very 
bad one. Not that I have any particular disgust at the world; 
for I have as great comfort in my own family, and from the kind- 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 171 

ness of my friends, as any man, but the world, in the main, dis- 
pleases me; and I have too true a presentiment of calamities that 
are likely to befall my country. However, if I should have the 
happiness to see you before I die, you will find that I enjoy the 
comforts of life with my usual cheerfulness. I cannot imagine 
why you are frighted from a journey to England. The reasons 
you assign are not sufficient ; the journey I am sure would do you 
good. In general I recommend riding, of which I have always 
had a good opinion, and can now confirm it from my own ex- 
perience. 

My family give you their love and service. The great loss I 
sustained in one of them gave me my first shock ; and the trouble 
I have with the rest to bring them to a right temper, to bear the 
loss of a father who loves them, and whom they love, is really a 
most sensible affliction to me. I am afraid, my dear friend, we 
shall never see one another more in this world. I shall to the 
last moment, preserve my love and esteem for you, being well 
assured you will never leave the paths of virtue and honour ; for 
all that is in this world is not worth the least deviation from that 
way. It will be great pleasure to me to hear from you sometimes ; 
for none can be with more sincerity than I am, my dear friend, 
your most faithful friend and humble servant, 

J. Arbuthnot. 

CXII. 

Steele's second wife was a Miss Mary Scuiiock, of Llan- 
gunnor, alady of considerable wealth and of fascinating presence ; 
she received his advances at first with coldness, yet only a month 
elapsed between his proposal and their marriage, which occm-red 
about eight days after the composition of the following pretty 
letter. 

Richard Steele to Mary Scurloch. 

September 1, 1707. 
It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love, and yet 
attend to business. 

As for me, all who speak to me find me out, and I must lock 
myself up, or other people will do it for me. 

A gentleman asked me this morning, ' What news from Lisbon ? ' 
and I answered, ' She is exquisitely handsome.' Another desired 
to know when I had been las at Hampton Court. I replied, * I 



172 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

will be on Tuesday come se'nniglit.' Pr'ythee, allow me at least 
to kiss your hand before that day, that my mind i?iay be in some 
composure. love ! 

A thousand torments dwell about thee ! 
Yet who would live to live without thee ? 

Methinks I could write a volume to yon; but all the language 
on earth would fail in saying how much, and with what dis- 
interested passion, I am ever yours, 

E.ICH. Steele. 



CXIII. 

It need scarcely be stated that Isaac Bickerstaffe was the nom 
de plume of Sir Richard Steele while he was writing for the 
^Tatler.' 

Sir Richard Steele to the Earl of Halifax. 

(Inclosing Mr. Bickerstaffe's proposal for a subscription. ) 

January 26,1709. 
My Lord, — I presume to enclose to your lordship Mr. Bicker- 
staffe's proposall for a subscription, and ask your lordship's favour 
in promoting it, having that philosopher's interest at heart as much 
as my own, and am, indeed, confident I am the greatest admirer he 
has. The best argument I have for this partiality is, that my 
Lord Halifax has smiled upon his labours. If any whom your 
Lordship recommends shall think fitt to subscribe more than the 
sum proposed for a Book, it may be said that it is for so many 
more books. This will make the favour more gracefull by being 
confer'd in an oblique way, and at the same time save the con- 
fusion of the Squire, whom I know to be naturally proud. 

I am, my Lord, your Lordship's most obliged 

most obedient humble servant 

Rich. Steele. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 173 



CXIV. 

Coleridge has warmly commended the letters of Steele to 
his second wife as ' models of their kind.' They are brief and 
artless, full of a sensitive ardour in demanding reciprocity of 
aifection, and singularly unaffected in style. Lady Steele died 
before her husband in 1718 ; she has been blamed for being so 
much absent from home, yet it is to this circumstance that we 
owe the priceless correspondence which she preserved. 

Sir Richard Steele to Lady Steele. 

June 20, 1717. 

Dear Prue, — I have yours of the 14th, and am infinitely 
obliged to you for the length of ifc. I do not know another whom 
I. could commend for that circumstance ; but where we entirely 
love, the continuance of anything they do to please us is a pleasure. 
As for your relations, once for all, pray take it for granted, that 
my regard and conduct towards all and singular of them shall be 
as you direct. 

I hope, by the grace of God to continue what you wish me, 
every way an honest man. My wife and my children are the 
objects that have wholly taken up my heart ; and as I am not 
invited or encouraged in anything which regards the public, I am 
easy under that neglect or envy of my past actions, and cheerfully 
contract that diffusive sf)irit within the interests of my own 
family. You are the head of us ; and I stooped to a female reign 
as being naturally made the slave of beauty. But to prepare for 
our manner of living when we are again together, give me leave to 
say, while I am here at leisure, and come to lie at Chelsea, what I 
think may contribute to our better way of living. I very much 
approve Mrs. Evans and her husband and if you take my advice, 
I would have them have a being in our house, and Mrs. Clark the 
care and inspection of the nursery. I would have you entirely at 
leisure to pass your time with me in diversions, in books^ in enter- 
tainments, and no. manner of business intrude upon us but at 
stated times. For, though you are made to be the delight of my 
eyes, and food of all my senses and faculties, yet a turn of care 
and housewifery, and I know not what prepossession against con- 
versation-pleasures, robs me of the witty and the handsome woman 



174 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

to a degree not to be expressed. I will work my brains and 
fingers to procure us plenty of all things, and demand nothing of 
you but to take delight in agreeable dresses, cheerful discourses 
and gay sights, attended by me. This may be done by putting the 
kitchen and the nursery in the hands I propose ; and I shall have 
nothing to do but to pass as much time at home as I possibly can, 
in the best company in the world. We cannot tell here what to 
think of the trial of my Lord Oxford ; if the ministry are in 
earnest in that and I should see it will be extended to a length of 
time, I will leave them to themselves, and wait upon you. Miss 
Moll grows a mighty beauty, and she shall be very prettily dressed, 
as likewise shall Betty and Eugene ; and if I throw away a little 
money in adorning my brats, I hope you will forgive me : They 
are, I thank God, all very well ; and the charming form of their 
mother has tempered the likeness they bear to their rough sire, 
who is, with the greatest fondness, your most obliged and most 
obedient husband, 

Rich. Steele. 



cxv. 

George II.'s Poet Laureate was seventy-six years of age when 
he wrote the following letter of advice to Mrs. Pilkington. 
From its remarkably familiar tone it will he readily understood 
that it was addressed to a person the writer did not respect hut 
was anxious to befriend. Lsetitia Pilkington, whose career was 
neither very interesting nor very reputable, was proud of the 
friendship of this dissipated old dramatist. 

Colley Cihher to Mrs. Pilkington. 

June 29, 1747. 

Thou frolicsome farce of fortune. 

What! Is there another act to come of you then? I was 
afraid, some time ago, you had made your last exit. Well ! but 
without wit or compliment, I am glad to hear you are so tolerably 
alive. I have your incredible narrative from Dublin before me, 
and shall, as you desire me, answer every paragraph in its turn, 
without considering its importance or connection. 

You say I have for many years been the kind j^reserver of your 
life. In this, I think, I have no great merit ; because you seem 
to set so little value upon it yourself : otherwise you would have 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 175 

considered, that poverty was the most helpless handmaid that ever 
waited upon a high-spirited lady. But as long as the world 
allowed you wit and parts, how poor (compared to you without a 
shilling in your pocket) was an illiterate queen of the Indies. Oh, 
the glory of a great soul ! Why, to be sure, as you say, it must 
be a fine thing indeed ! But — a word in your Majesty's ear — 
common sense is no contemptible creature, notwithstanding you have 
thought her too vulgar to be one of your maids of honour. 

Common sense might have prevented as many misfortunes as 
your high-and-mightiness has run through. It is true, you have 
stood them all with a Catonian constancy; but I fancy you might 
have passed your life as merrily without them. You see I am 
still friend enough to be free with your failings : but make the 
best of a bad market. You seem now to have a glimpse of a new 
world before you ! 

Think a little how you are to squeeze through the crowd, with 
such a bundle at your back j and don't suppose it possible you can 
have a grain of wit, till you have twenty pounds in your pocket. 
With half that sum, a greater sinner than you may look the devil 
in the face. Few people of sense will turn their back upon a 
woman of wit, that does not look as if she came to borrow money 
of them : but, when want brings her to her wits' end, every fool 
will have wit enough to avoid her. But as this seems now to be 
your case, I am more afraid of your being out of your wits at 
your good, than your bad fortune ; for I question whether you 
are as able to bear the first as the last. If you don't tell me a 
poetical fib, in saying that people of taste so often borrow Cicero 
of you, I will send you half a score of them, with which you may 
compliment those whom you suppose to be your friends ; perhaps 
you may have a chance of having the favour returned with some- 
thing more than it is worth. Generosity is less shy of shewing 
itself, when it only appears to be grateful. In a word, if you 
would have these books, you must order some friend in London 
to call upon me for them ; for you know I hate care and trouble. 

I am not sure your spouse's having taken another wife, before 
you came over, might not have proved the only means of his being 
a better husband to you ; for, had he picked up a fortune, the hush ! 
hush ! of your prior claim to him, might have been worth a better 
separate maintenance, than. you are now like to get out of him. 



176 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

As for my health and spirits, they are as usual, and full as strong 
as any body's that has enjoyed his the same number of years. If 
the value I have for you gives you any credit in your own country 
pray stretch it as far as you think it can be serviceable to you ; for 
under all tbe rubbish of year misfortunes, I can see your merit 
sparkle like a lost jewel. I have no greater pleasure, than in 
placing my esteem on those who can feel and value it. Had you 
been born to a larger fortune, your shining qualities might have 
put half the rest of your sex out of countenance. If any of them 
are uncharitable enough to call this flattery, tell them what a poor 
devil you are, and let that solace you. If ever you should recover 
enough of the public favour to dissipate your former sorrows, I 
should be glad to see you here. In the mean time you will fully 
repay any service I may have done you, by sometimes letting me 
hear of your well-doing. I hope you have but one volume of your 
Memoirs in the press ; because, if that meets with any success, I 
believe I could give you some natural hints, which, in the easy 
dress of your pen, might a good deal enliven it. 

You make your court very ill to me, by depreciating the 
natural blessings on your side the water. 

What have you to boast of, that you want, but wealth and 
insolent dominion ? Is not the glory of God's creation, lovely 
woman ! there in its highest lustre ? I have seen several and 
frequent examples of them here; and have heard of many, not 
only from yourself, but others, who, for the agreeable entertain- 
ments of the social mind, have not their equal playfellows in Old 
England. And pray what, to me, would life be worth without 
them ? dear soft souls ! for now too they are lavish of favours, 
which, in my youth, they would have trembled to trust me with. 
In a word, if, instead of the sea, I had only the dry-ground Alps 
to get over, I should think it but a trip to Dublin. In the mean 
time we must e'en compound for such interviews as the post or 
the packet can send to you, or bring to 

Your real Friend and Servant 

C. Gibber. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 17.7 



CXVI. 

Josepli Addison gives liis impressions of tlie French bour- 
geoisie, represented by the good people of Blois, at a time when 
the extravagant tastes and costly wars of the Grand Monarque 
culminated in the imposition, for the first time, of a capitation 
tax on people already poverty-stricken through burthensome 
taxation. 

Josepli Addison to Charles Montagu, Esq. 

Blois : October, 1699. 
Honoured Sir, — You will be surpris'd I dont question to find 
among your Correspondencies in Foreign parts a Letter Dated from 
Blois : but as much out of y^ world as we are, I have often the 
pleasure to hear you mention'd among the Strangers of other 
Nations whose company I am here sometimes Engag'd in ; I have 
found since my leaving England that 'tis Impossible to talk of her 
with those that know there is such a Nation, but you make a part 
of the Discourse. Your name comes in upon the most different 
subjects, if we speak of the men of Wit or the men of Business, of 
Poets or Patrons, Politicians or Parliament men. I must confess 
I am never so sensible of my Imperfection in the French Language 
as when I would express myself on so agreeable a subject; tho' if 
I understood it as well as Mother Tongue I shou'd want words on 
this occasion. I cant pretend to trouble you with any News from 
this place, where the only Advantage I have besides getting the 
Language is to see the manners and temper of the people, which I 
believe may be better learn't here than in Courts and greater 
Citys where Artifice and Disguise are more in fashion. And truly 
by what I have yet seen they are the Happiest nation in the 
World, Tis not in the pow'r of Want or Slavery to make 'em 
miserable. There is nothing to be met w4th in the Country but 
Mirth and Poverty. Ev'ry one sings, laughs and starves. Their 
Conversation is generally Agi*eeable j for if they have any Wit or 
Sense, they are sure to show it. They never mend upon a 
Second meeting, but use all the freedom and familiarity at first 
Sight that a Long Intimacy or Abundance of wine can scarce 
draw from an Englishman : Their Women are perfect Mistresses 
in this Art of showing themselves to the best Advantage. They 
are always gay and sprightly and set oflf y® Worst Faces in 



178 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

Europe witli y® best airs. Ev'ry one knows how to give herself as 
charming a Look and posture as S'^ Godfrey Kneller c^ draw her in. 
I cannot end my letter without observing, that from what I have 
already seen of the world I cannot but set a particular mark upon 
those who abound most in the Virtues of their Nation and least 
with its Imperfections. When therefore I see the Good sense of 
an. Englishman in its highest perfection without any mixture of 
the Spleen, I hope you will excuse me if I admire the Character 
and am i^.mbitious of subscribing myself 



Hon'^'^ Sir, 



Yo^ &c. 



CXVII. 



In 1700 Boileau had almost entirely retreated from the world, 
and it was by special favour that he received the elegant young 
Englishman, as yet known to fame only as a singularly accom- 
plished Latinist ; but Malebranche, like Saint Evremond in the 
generation before him, had more friends in London than in Paris, 
and to pay him a visit was the duty of every lettered English- 
man who found himself in France. 

Joseph Addison to Bishop Hough. 

December, 1700. 
My Lord, — I receiv'd y^ honour of your L^^ship's Letter at 
Paris, and am since got as far as Lyons in my way for Italy. I am 
at present very well content to quit y® French conversation, which 
since y® promotion of their young prince begins to grow Insupport- 
able. That w'^ was before y^ Vainest nation in y^ world is now 
worse than ever. There is scarce a man in it that does not give him- 
self greater airs upon it, and look as well pleased as if he had rec'd 
some considerable advancement in his own fortunes. The best 
company I have met with since my being in this country has been 
among y^ men of Letters, who are generally easy of access, espe- 
cially y^ Religious who have a great deal of time on their hands, 
and ai-e glad to pass some of it off in y® society of strangers. Their 
Learning for y® most part lies among y^ old schoolmen. Their 
public disputes run upon y^ Controversys between the Thomists 
and Scotists, which they manage with abundance of Heat and 
False Latin. When I was at Paris I visited y® Pere Malbranche 
who has a particular esteem for y^ English Nation, where I 
believe he has more admirers than in his own. The French dont 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 179 

CtU'3 for following him througli his deep Researches, and generally 
look upon all y® new Philosophy as Visionary or Irreligious. 
Malbranche himself told me that he was five and twenty years old 
before he had so much as heard of y® name of Des Cartes. His 
book is now reprinted with many Additions, among which he 
show'd me a very pretty hypothesis of Colours w^ is different from 
that of Cartesius or Mr. Newton, tho' they may all three be True. 
He very much prais'd M^ Newton's Mathematics, shook his head 
at y6 name of Hobbes, and told me he thought him a 'paxivre 
es'prit. He was very solicitous about y® English translation of his 
work, and was afraid it had been taken from an 111 Edition of it. 
Among other Learned men I had y^ honour to be introduc'd to 
M'' Boileau, who is now retouching his works and putting 'em 
out in a new Impression. He is old and a little Deaf but talks 
incomparably well in his own calling. He heartily hates an 111 
poet and throws himself into a passion when he talks of any 
one that has not a high respect for Homer and Yir-gil. I dont 
know whether there is more of old Age or Truth in his Censures 
on y® French writers, but he wonderfully decrys y^ present and 
extols very much his former cotemporarys, especially his two 
intimate friends Arnaud and Racine. I askt him whether he 
thought Telemaque was not a good modern piece : he spoke of it 
with a great deal of esteem, and said that it gave us a better 
notion of Homer's way of writing than any translation of his 
works could do, but that it falls however infinitely short of y® 
Odyssee, for Mentor, says he, is eternally Preaching, but Ulysses 
shows us every thing in his character and behaviour y* y^ other 
is still pressing on us by his precepts and Instructions. He said 
y^ punishment of bad Kings was very well invented, and might 
compare with any thing of that nature in y® 6*^ Eneid, and that 
y® deceit put on Telemaque's Pilot to make him misguide his 
master is more artful and poetical than y^ Death of Pal in ur us. I 
mention his discourse of his Author because it is at present y® 
Book y* is everywhere talked of, and has a great many partizans 
for and against it in this country. I found him as warm in crying 
up this man and y^ good poets in general as he has been in cen- 
suring y® bad ones of his time, as we commonly observe y® man 
that makes y® Best friend is y® worst enemy. He talk'd very 
much of Corneille, allowing him to be an excellent poet, but at y^ 



180 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

same time none of y^ best Tragiqne writers, for that he declaimed 
too frequently and made very fine Descriptions often when there 
was no occasion for 'em. Aristotle, says he, proposes two passions 
y* are proper to be rais'd by Tragedy, Terrour and Pity, but 
Corneille endeavours at a new one w^ is Admiration. He in- 
stanc'd in his Pompey (w^ he told us y® late Duke of Condy thought 
y^ best Tragedy y* was ever written) where in y® first scene y® 
King of Egypt runs into a very pompous and long description of 
y® battle of Pharsalia, tho' he was then in a great hurry of affairs 
and had not himself been present at it. I hope your L^ship will 
excuse me for this kind of Intelligence, for in so beaten a Road as 
that of France it is impossible to talk of anything new unless 
we may be allow'd to speak of particular persons, y^ are always 
changing and may therefore furnish different matter for as many 
travellers as pass thro' y® country. 

I am my L*^ 

Your L'^ship's &c. 



OXVIII. 

This letter, so full of the gentlemanlike hadi'-.ageand grace- 
ful humour in which its author was the first English writer to 
excel, was composed at a moment when the hopes of Addi- 
son were at their lowest, and his ambition most painfully 
humiliated. The death of King William had destroyed that 
Whig Ministry with which the poet's chances of preferment were 
bound up, and had brought him but one advantage, ' leisure to 
make tho tour of Germany.' 

Joseph Addison to ChamherloAn Dashwood. 

Geneva : July, 1702. 
Dear Sir, — About three days ago Mr. Bocher put a very pretty 
snuff-box in my hand. I was not a little pleas'd to hear that it 
belonged to myself, and was much more so when I found it was a 
present from a Gentleman that I have so great an honour for. 
You did not probably foresee that it would draw on you y® 
trouble of a Letter, but you must blame yourself for it. For my 
part I can no more accept of a Snuff-box without returning my 
Acknowledgements, than I can take Snuff without sneezing after it. 
This last I must own to you is so great an absurdity that I 
should be ashamed to confess it, were not I in hopes of correcting 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 181 

it very speedily. I am observ'd to have my Box oft'ner in my 
hand than those that have bsen used to one these twenty years, for 
I cant forbear taking it out of my pocket whenever I think of 
Mr. Dashwood. You know Mr. Bays recommends Snuff as a 
great provocative to Wit, but you may produce this Letter as a 
Standing Evidence against him. I have since y® beginning of it 
taken above a dozen pinches, and still find myself much more 
inclin'd to sneeze than to jest. From whence I conclude that 
Wit and Tobacco are not inseparable, or to make a Pun of it, 
tho' a Man may be master of a snuff-box, 

Non cuicunque datum est habere Nasam. 

I should be afraid of being thought a Pedant for my Quotation 
did not I know that y^ Gentleman I am writing to always carrys 
a Horace in his pocket. But whatever you may think me, pray 
S^ do me y® Justice to esteem me 

Your most &c. 

CXIX. 

The last letter written by Addison commends in these toucii- 
ing terms to the favour of his successor Mr. Oraggs^ the fortunes 
of his young friend and literary executor Tickell. It was long 
before that poet could so far command his grief as to write the 
elegy on Addison, which is one of the finest products of English 
verse in the eighteenth century ; and, before it was finished, 
Craggs had followed Addison to the grave. A few days before 
the writing of this letter, the great essayist had given Tickell 
directions for pubhshing his complete works. 

Josejili Addison to Mr. Secretary Craqgs. 

J- me, 1719. 
Dear Sir, — I cannot wish that any of my writings should last 
longer than the memory of our friendship, and therefore I thus 
publicly bequeath them to you, in return for tho many valuable 
instances of your affection. 

That they may come to you with as little disadvantage as 
possible, I have left the care of them to one, whom, by the expe- 
rience of some years, I know well-qualified to answer my inten- 
tions. He has already the honour and happiness of being under 
your protection ; and as he will very much stand in need of it, I 
cannot wish him better than that he may continue to deserve the 
favour and protection of such a patron. 
9* 



182 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

I have no time to lay out in forming such compliments, as 
would but ill suit that familiarity between us, which was once my 
greatest pleasure, and will be my greatest honour hereafter. 

Instead of them, accept of my hearty wishes that the great re- 
putation you have acquired so early, may increase more and more : 
and that you may long serve your country with those excellent 
talents, and unblemished integrity, which have so powerfully 
recommended you to the most gracious and amiable monarch that 
ever filled a throne. 

May the frankness and generosity of your spirit continue to 
soften and subdue your enemies, and gain you many friends, if 
possible, as sincere as yourself. When you have found such, they 
cannot wish you more true happiness than I, who am with the 
greatest zeal, &c. 

cxx. 

Lord Bolinghroke is writing to announce an event which was 
full of importance in marking an exceptional career. The Eoyal 
assent had just been given to a Bill allowing him to retm-n to 
England and to the possession of his property ; but Parliament, 
by refusing to cancel his Attainder, insisted on keeping so dan- 
gerous and insinuating a rival at arm's length. Permanently 
deprived of his seat in the House of Lords he found an outlet 
for his bitterness in the pages of the ^ Craftsman,' but neither as 
St. John Viscount Bolingbroke nor as Humphrey Oldcastle was 
he able to make headway against that Whig ascendancy which 
lasted even beyond the remaining twenty-five years of his life. 

Lord Bolinghroke to Dean Sioift. 

London: July 24, 1725. 
Mr. Ford will tell you how I do, and what I do. Tired with 
suspense, the only insupportable misfortune of life, I desired, after 
nine years of autumnal piomises and vernal excuses, a decision ; 
and cared very little what that decision was, provided it left me a 
liberty to settle abroad, or put me on a foot of living agreeably at 
home. The wisdom of the nation has thought fit, instead of 
granting so reasonable a request, to pass an act, which fixing my 
fortune unalterably to this country, fixes my person there also : 
and those, who had the least mind to see me in England, have 
made it impossible for me to live any where else. Here I am 
then, two-thirds restored, my person safe, (unless I meet hereafter 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 183 

with harder treatment than even that of Sir Walter Raleigh) and 
my estate, with all the other property I have acquired, or may 
acquire, secured to me. But the attainder is kept carefully and 
prudently in force, lest so corrupt a member should come again 
into the house of lords, and his bad leaven should sour that sweet, 
untainted mass. Thus much I thought I might say about my 
private affairs to an old friend, without diverting him too long 
from his labours to promote the advantage of the church and state 
of Ireland ; or, from his travels into those countries of giants and 
pigmies, from whence he imports a cargo I value at an higher 
rate than that of the richest galleon. Ford brought the dean of 
Derry to see me. Unfortunately for me, I was then out of town ; 
and the journey of, the former into Ireland will perhaps defer, 
for some time, my making acquaintance with the other, which I 
. am sorry for. I would not by any means lose the opportunity 
of knowing a man, who can espouse in good earnest the system of 
father Malebranclie, and who is fond of going a missionary into 
the West Indies. My zeal for the propagation of the Gospel will 
hardly carry me so far ; but my spleen against Europe has, more 
than once, made me think of buying the dominion of Bermudas, 
and spending the remainder of my daj^s as far as possible from 
those people, with whom I have passed the first and greatest part 
of my life. Health and every other natural comfort of life is to 
be had there, better than here. As to imaginary and artificial 
pleasures, we are philosophers enough to despise them. What say 
you % Will you leave your Hibernian flock to some other shepherd, 
and transplant yourself with me into the middle of the Atlantic 
ocean ? We will form a society more reasonable, and more useful 
than that of doctor Berkeley's ^ College : and I promise you 
solemnly, as supreme magistrate, not to suffer the currency of 
Wood's halfpence : ^ Nay, the coiner of them shall be hanged, if he 
presumes to set his foot on our island. 

Let me hear how you are, and what you do ; and if you really 

' Dr. Berkeley" obtained a charter for establishing a University in the 
Bermudas for the general improvement and education of our colonies, but 
the design miscarried for lack of money. 

2 Allusion to the ' Drapier Letters,' written by Swift against the intro- 
diiction into Ireland of a new copper coinage to be supplied by 
Birmingham speculator, William Wood. 



184 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

have any latent kindness still at the bottom of your heart for me ; 
say something very kind to me, for I don't dislike being cajoled. 
If your heart tells you nothing, say nothing, that I may take the 
hint, and wean myself from you by degrees. Whether I shall 
compass it or not, God knows : but, surely this is the properest 
place in the world to renounce friendship in, or to forget obliga- 
tions. Mr. Ford says he will be with us again by the beginning 
of the winter. Your Star will probably hinder you from taking 
the same journey. Adieu, dear Dean. I had something more to 
say to you, almost as important as what I have said already, but 
company comes in upon me, and relieves you. 



CXXI. 

To Swift, Pope, and Gay this little trifle was addressed by 
their restless correspondent in one of his cheery moments. 

Lord BolinghroJce to the Three Yahoos of Twickenham,^ Jonathan, 
Alexander^ John. 
From the banks of the Severn : July 23, 1726. 

Though you are probably very indifferent where I am,- or what 
I am doing ; yet I resolve to believe the contrary. I persuade 
myself that you have sent at least fifteen times within this fort- 
night to i)ai/;^e^ farm, and that you are extremely mortified at my 
long silence. To relieve you therefore from this great anxiety of 
mind, I can do no less than write a few lines to you; and I please 
myself beforehand with the vast pleasure which this epistle must 
needs give you. That I may add to this pleasure, and give you 
further proofs of my beneficent temper, I will likewise inform you, 
that I shall be in your neighbourhood again by the end of next 
week ; by which time I hope that Jonathan's imagination of busi- 
ness will be succeeded by some imagination more becoming a pro- 
fessor of that divine science, la bagatelle. 

Adieu, Jonathan, Alexander, John ! Mirth be with you. 



cxxn. 

This joint epistle was written at the time Lord Bolinghroke's 
second wife, the niece of Madame de Maintenon, was iu failing 
health. Pope's allusion to his mother is one of the many touch- 
ing illustrations of the best trait in his character. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 185 

Lord Bolinghroke and Alexander Pope to Dean Sioift. 

March 29, 1731. 

I have delayed several posts answering your letter of January 
last, in hopes of being able to speak to yon about a project which 
concerns us both, but me the most, since the success of it would 
bring us together. It has been a good Avhile in my head and at my 
heart ; if it can be set a-going you shall hear of it. I was ill in 
the beginning of the winter for near a week, but in no danger 
either from the nature of my distemper or from the attendance 
of three physicians. Since that bilious intermitting fever I have 
had, as I had before, better health than the regard I have paid to 
health deserves. We are both in the decline of life, my dear dean, 
and have been some years going down the hill ; let us make the 
passage as smooth as we can. Let us fence against physical evil 
by care and the use of those means which experience must have 
pointed out to us : let us fence against moral evil by philosophy. 
I renounce the alternative you propose. But we may, nay (if we 
will follow nature, and do not work up imagination against her 
plainest dictates), we shall of course, grow every year more indif- 
ferent to life, and to the affairs and interests of a system out of 
which we are soon to go. This is much better than stupidity. The 
decay cf passion strengthens philosophy, for passion may decay 
and stupidity not succeed. Passions (says Pope, our divine, as you 
will see one time or other), are the gales of life ; let us not com- 
plain that they do not blow a storm. What hurt does age do us 
in subduing what we toil to subdue all our lives ? It is now six 
in the morning ; I recal the time (and am glad it is over) when 
about this hour I used to be going to bed, surfeited with pleasure 
or jaded with business j my head often full of schemes, and my 
heart as often fuU of anxiety. Is it a misfortune, think you, that 
I rise at this hour refreshed, serene, and calm 1 that the past and 
even the present affairs of life stand like objects at a distance 
from me, where I can keep off the disagreeables so as not to be 
strongly affected by them, and from whence I can draw the 
others nearer to me. Passions in their force would bring all these, 
nay, even future contingencies, about my ears at once, and reason 
would but ill defend me in the scuffle. 

I leave Pope to speak for himself, but I must tell you how 



186 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

much my wife is obliged to you. She says she would find strength 
enough to nurse you if you were here, and yet, God knows, she is 
extremely weak; the slow fever works under and mines the con- 
stitution ; we keep it off sometimes, but still it returns and makes 
new breaches before nature can repair the old ones. I am not 
ashamed to say to you that I admire her more every hour of my 
life : Death is not to her the King of terrors ; she beholds him 
without the least. When she suffers much she wishes for him 
as a deliverer from pain; when life is tolerable she looks on 
him with dislike, because he is to separate her from those friends 
to whom she is more attached than to life itself. You shall not 
stay for my next as long as you have for this letter, and in every 
one Pope shall write something much better than the scraps of 
old philosophers, which were the presents, munuscula, that stoical 
fop Seneca used to send in every epistle to his friend Lucilius. 



P.S. By Alexander Pope. 

My lord has spoken justly of his lady ; why not I of my mother ? 
Yesterday was her birthday, now entering on the ninety-first year 
of her age ; her memory much diminished, but her senses very 
little hurt, her sight and hearing good ; she sleeps not ill, eats 
moderately, drinks water, says her prayers; and this is all she 
does. I have reason to thank God for continuing so long to me 
a very good and tender parent, and for allowing me to exercise 
for some years those cares which are now as necessary to lier as 
Jiers have been to me. An object of this sort daily before one's 
eyes very much softens the mind, but perhaps may hinder it from 
the willingness of contracting other ties of the like domestic 
nature when one finds how painful it is even to enjoy the tender 
pleasures. I have formerly made so strong efibrts to get and to 
deserve a friend ; perhaps it were wiser never to attempt it, but 
live extempore, and look upon the world only as a place to pass 
through, just pay your hosts their due, disperse a little charity, 
and hurry on. Yet am I just now writing (or rather planning) a 
book ' to make mankind look upon this life with comfort and 
pleasure, and put morality in good humour. And just now, too, 

' The Essay on Man. 



1700J ENGLISH LETTERS. 187 

I am going to see one I love tenderly, and tomorrow to entertain 
several civil people, whom if we call friends it is by the courtesy 
of England. Sic, sic juvat ire sub umbras. While we do live 
we must make the best of life. 

Cantantes Heet usque (minus via Icedat) eamus — 

as the shepherd said in Yirgil when the road was long and heavy. 
I am yours. 

CXXIII. 

In the midst of Dr. Berkeley's voluminous and not very 
lively correspondence there is a refreshing descriptive account 
of the Island of Inarime (the modern Ischia), addressed to 
Pope from the Doctor's winter quarters at Naples. 

Br. Berkeley to Alexander Pope. 

Naples: October 22, 1717. 
I have long had it in my thoughts to trouble you with a letter, 
but was discouraged for want of something that I could think 
worth sending fifteen hundred miles. Italy is such an exhausted 
subject, that, I dare say, you'd easily forgive my saying nothing of 
it; and the imagination of a poet is'a thing so nice and delicate, 
that it is no easy matter to find out images capable of giving plea- 
sure to one of the few, who (in any age) have come up to that 
character. I am nevei'theless lately returned from an island where 
I passed three or four months ; which, were it set out in its true 
colours, might, methinks, amuse you agreeably enough for a 
minute or two. The island Inarime is an epitome of the whole 
earth, containing, within the compass of eighteen miles, a wonderful 
variety of hills, vales, ragged rocks, fruitful plains, and barren 
mountains, all thrown together in a most romantic confusion. 
The air is, in the hottest season, constantly refreshed by cool 
breezes from the sea. The vales produce excellent wheat and 
Indian corn, but are mostly covered with vineyards intermixed 
with fruit-trees. Besides the common kinds, as cherries, apricots, 
peaches, &c. they produce oranges, limes, almonds, pomegranates, 
figs, water-melons, and many other fi*uits unknown to our cli- 
mates, which lie every where open to the passenger. The hills are 
the greater part covered to the top with vines, some with chesnut 
groves, and others with thickets of myrtle and lentiscus. The 



188 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

fields in the northern side are divided by hedgerows of myrtle. 
Several fountains and rivulets add to the beauty of this landscape, 
which is likewise set off by the variety of some barren spots and 
naked rocks. But that which crowns the scene, is a large moun- 
tain rising out of the middle of the island (once a terrible Vol- 
cano, by the ancients called Mons Eijomeus). Its lower parts are 
adorned with vines and other fruits, the middle affords pasture to 
flocks of goats and sheep ; and the top is a sandy pointed rock, 
from which you have the finest prospect in the world, surveying 
at one view, besides several pleasant islands lying at your feet, a 
tract of Italy about three hundred miles in leng-th, from the pro- 
montory of Antium to the Cape of Palinurus ; the greater part of 
which hath been sung by Homer and Virgil, as making a con- 
siderable part of the travels and adventures of their two heroes. 
The islands Caprea, Prochyta, and Parthenope, together with 
Cajeta, Cumae, Monte Miseno, the habitations of Circe, the Syrens, 
and the Lastrigones, the bay of Naples, the promontory of Minerva, 
and the whole Campagnia felice, make but a part of this noble 
landscape; which would demand an imagination as warm, and 
numbers as flowing, as your own, to describe it. The inhabitants 
of this delicious isle, as they are without riches and honours, so 
are they without the vices and follies that attend them ; and were 
they but as much strangers to revenge as they are to avarice and 
ambition, they might in fact answer the poetical notions of the 
golden age. But they have got, as an alloy to their happiness, an 
ill habit of murdering one another on slight offences. We had 
an instance of this the second night after our arrival, a youth of 
sixteen being shot dead by our door : and yet by the sole secret 
of minding our own business, we found a means of living securely 
among those dangerous people. Would you know how we pass the 
time at Naples 1 Our chief entertainment is the devotion of our 
neighbours. Besides the gaiety of their churches (where folks 
go to see what they call una bella Devotione, i.e. a sort of religious 
opera), they make fireworks almost every week out of devotion ; 
the streets are often hung with arras out of devotion ; and (what 
is still more strange) the ladies invite gentlemen to their houses, 
and treat them with music and sweetmeats, out- of devotion : in a 
word, were it not for this devotion of its inhabitants, Naples 
would have little else to recommend it beside the air and situation. 



1700] • ENGLISH LETTERS. 189 

Learning is in no very thriving state here, as indeed nowhere else 
in Italy ; however, among many pretenders, some men of taste are 
to be met wibh. A friend of mine told me not long since, that, 
being to visit Salvini at Florence, he found him reading your 
Homer : he liked the notes extremely, and could find no other 
fault with the version, but that he thought it approached too near 
a paraphrase ; which shews him not to be sufficiently acquainted 
with our language. I wish you health to go on with that noble 
work ; and when you have that, I need not wish you success. You 
will do me the justice to believe, that whatever relates to your 
welfare is sincerely wished by your, &c. 



CXXIV. 

This is doubtless one of those letters which Pope, in pretend- 
hig to address to a friend, addressed in reality to posterity. It 
reads very like one of Addison's ' Saturday Spectators.' 

A deep experience of ' that long disease, my Hfe/ gave Pope 
an unusual right to moralise on the vanity of human ambition, 
and we have seldom an opportunity of admiring him so sin- 
cerely as when we find him indulging in this wise and whole- 
some strain. Yet to Steele, the most spontaneous of letter- 
writsrs, the measured cadences of Pope's epistolary style must 
ha\-e seemed, as they seem to us, with all their beauty, a little 
artificial. 

Alexander For>e to Richard Steele. 

July 15, 1712. . 
You formerly observed to me that nothing made a more ridi- 
culous figure in a man's life than the disparity we often find in 
him sick and well : thus one of an unfortunate constitution is per- 
petually exhibiting a miserable example of the weakness of his 
mind and of his body in their turns. I have had frequent oppor- 
tunities of late to consider myself in these different views, and I 
hope have received some advantage by it, if what Waller says be 
true, that 

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd. 

Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. 

Then, surely, sickness, contributing no less than old age to 
the shaking down this scaffolding of the body, may discover the 
inward structure more plainly. Sickness is a sort of early old 



190 ENGLISH LETTERS. ' [1600- 

age ; it teacLes us a diffidence in ouv earthly state, and inspires us 
with the thought of a future, better than a thousand volumes of 
philosophers and divines. It gives so warning a concussion to 
those props of our vanity, our strength, and youth, that we think 
of fortifying ourselves within, when there is so little dependence 
upon our outworks. Youth, at the very best, is but a betrayer of 
human life in a gentler and smoother manner than age : it is like 
a stream that nourishes a plant upon a bank, and causes it to 
flourish and blossom to the sight, but at the same time is under- 
mining it at the root in secret. My youth has dealt more fairly 
and openly with me : it has afforded me several prospects of my 
danger, and has given me an advantage not very common to young 
men, that the attractions of the world have not dazzled me very 
much ; and I begin, where most people end, with a full conviction 
of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and the unsatisfactory 
nature of all human pleasures. When a smart fit of sickness tells 
ine this scurvy tenement of my body will fall in a little time, I am 
e'en as unconscious as was that honest Hibernian, who, being in 
bed in the great storm some years ago, and told the house would 
tumble over his head, made answer, ' What care I for the house, 
I am only a lodger.' I fancy it is the best time to die when one is 
in the best humour ; and so excessive weak as I now am, I may say 
with conscience that I am not at all uneasy at the thought that 
many men whom I never had any esteem for, are likely to enjoy 
this world after me. When I reflect what an inconsiderable little 
atom every single man is, with respect to the whole creation, 
methinks it is a shame to be concerned at the removal of such a 
trivial animal as I am. The morning after my exit the sun will 
rise as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring 
as green, the world will proceed in its old course, people will 
laugh as heartily and marry as fast as they were used to do. 

' The memory of man,' as it is elegantly expressed in the 
Book of Wisdom, ' passeth away as the remembrance of a guest 
that tarrieth but one day.' 

There are reasons enough in the fourth chapter of the same 
book to make any young man contented with the prospect of 
death. * For honourable age is not that which standeth in length 
of time, or is measured by number of years. But wisdom is the 
gray hair to men, and an unspotted life is old age. He was taken 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 191 

away speedily, lest wickedness slioiild alter his understanding, oi 
deceit beguile his soul,' kc. I am, yours, &c. 

A. Pope. 

CXXV. 

This letter is selected, firstly, because it is an interesting 
specimen of Pope's power of conveying in prose wbat no writer 
in ancient or modern literature has approached him in conyey- 
ing in Terse — compliment; secondly, because it contains the 
f£?mous description of the lovers killed by lightninp-, a descrip- 
tion which Thackeray has so justly chosen for encomium. 

Alexander Tope to Lady Mary Worthy Montagu. 

1710. 

Madam, — I have been (what I never was till now) in debt to 
you for a letter some weeks. I was informed you were at sea, 
and that 'twas to no purpose to write till some news had been 
heard of your arriving somewhere or other. Besides, I have had 
a second dangerous illness, from which I was more diligent to 
be recovered than from the first, having now some hopes of seeing 
you again. If you make any tour in Italy, I shall not easily for- 
give you for not acquainting me soon enough to have met you 
there. I am very certain I can never be polite unless I travel 
with you : and it is never to be repaired, the loss that Homer has 
sustained, for want of my translating him in Asia, You will 
come hither full of criticisms against a man who wanted nothing to 
be in the right but to have kept you company ; you have no way 
of making me amends, but by continuing an Asiatic when you 
return to me, whatever English aii's you may put on to other 
people. I prodigiously long for your Sonnets, your Remarks, 
your Oriental Learning ; — but I long for nothing so much as your 
Oriental self. You must of necessity be advanced so far hack into 
true nature and simplicity of manners, by these three years' resi- 
dence in the East, that I shall look upon you as so many years 
younger than you was, so much nearer innocence, (that is, truth,) 
and infancy (that is, openness). I expect to see your soul so 
much thinner dressed as your body ; and that you have left oflT, 
as unwieldy and cumbersome, a great many damned European 
habits. Without oflfence to your modesty be it spoken, I have a 
bm^ning desire to see your soul stark naked, for I am confident 
'tis the prettiest kind of white soul in the universe. But I forget 



192 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

whom I am talking to ; you may possibly by this time believe, 
according to the Prophet, that you have none ; if so, shew me 
that which comes next to a soul ; you may easily put it upon a 
poor ignorant Christian for a soul, and please him as well with it; 
— I mean your heart; — Mahomet, I think, allows you hearts; 
which (together with fine eyes and other agreeable equivalents) 
are worth all the souls on this side the world. But if I must be 
content with seeing your body only, God send it to come quickly : 
I honour it more than the diamond casket that held Homer's 
Iliads ; for in the very twinkle of one eye of it there is more wit, 
and in the very dimple of one cheek of it there is more meaning, 
than all the souls that ever were casually put into women since 
men had the making of them. 

I have a mind to fill the rest of this paper with an accident 
that happened just under my eyes, and has made a great impres- 
sion upon me. I have jnst passed part of this summer at an old 
romantic seat of my Lord Harcourt's, which he lent me. It over- 
looks a common-field, where, under the shade of a haycock, sat two 
lovers, as constant as ever were found in Ilomance, beneath a 
spreading beech. The name of the one (let it sound as it will) 
was John He wet ; of the other, Sarah Drew. John was a well- 
set man about five and twenty, Sarah a brown woman of eighteen. 
John had for several months borne the labour of the day in the 
same field with Sarah, when she milked, it was his morning and 
evening charge to bring the cows to her pail. Their love was the 
talk, but not the scandal, of the whole neighbourhood ; for all they 
aimed at was the blameless possession of each other in marriage. 
It was but this very morning that he had obtained her parents' 
consent, and it was but till the next week that they were to wait 
to be happy. Perhaps thi-^ very day, in the intervals of their work, 
they were talking of their wedding clothes ; and John was now 
matching several kinds of poppies and field-flowers to her com- 
plexion, to make her a present of knots for the day. While they 
were thus employed, (it was on the last of July) a terrible storm 
of thunder and lightning arose, that drove the labourers to what 
shelter the trees or hedges afi'orded. Sarah, frighted and out of 
breath, sunk on a haycock, and John (who never separated from 
her) sate by her side, having raked two or three heaps together to 
secure her. Immediately there was heard so loud a crack as if 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 193 

Heaven had burst asunder. The labourers, all solicitous for each 
other's safety, called to one another : those that were nearest our 
lovers, hearing no answer, stept to the place where they lay : they 
first saw a little smoke, and after, this faithful pair, — John, with 
one arm about his Sarah's neck, and the other held over her face, 
as if to secure her from the lightning.^ They were struck dead, 
and already grown stiff and cold in this tender posture. There 
•was no mark or discolouring on their bodies, only that Sarah's 
eye-brow was a little singed, and a small spot between her breasts. 
They were buried the next day in one grave, in the parish of 
Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire ! where my Lord Harcourt, at 
my request, has erected a monument over them. Of the following 
epitaphs which I made, the critics have chosen the godly one : I 
like neither, but wish you had been in England to have done this 
office better : I think 'twas what you could not have refused me on 
so movinsc an occasion. 



On the same pile their faithful Fair expire ; 
Here pitying Heav'n that Tirtue mutual found, 
And blasted both, that it might neither wound. 
Hearts so sincere, th' Almighty saw well pieas'd, 
Sent Lis own lightning, and the Tictims seized. 

Think not, by rig'rous judgment seiz'd, 
A pair so faithful could expire ; 

Victims so pure Heav'n saw well pleas'd 
And snatch'd them in celestial fire. 



When God calls Virtue to the grave, 
Alike 'tis justice, soon or late, 

Mercy alike to. kill or save. 
Virtue unmov'd can hear the call, 
And face the flash that melts the ball. 

Upon the whole, I can't think these people unhappy. The 
greatest happiness, next to living as they would have done, \\ as to 
die as they did. The greatest honour people of this low degree 
could have, was to be remembered on a little monument, unless 
you will give them another, — that of b^ing honoured with a tear 



194 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600^ 

from the finest eyes in the world. I know you have tenderness ; 
you must have it ; it is the very emanation of good sense and 
virtue ; the finest minds, like the finest metals, dissolve the easiest. 
But when you are reflecting upon objects of pity, pray do not 
forget one, who had no sooner found out an object of the highest 
esteem, than he was separated from it ; and who is so very un- 
happy as not to be susceptible of consolation, from others, by 
l)eing so miserably in the right as to think other women what they« 
really are. Such an one can't but be desperately fond of any 
creature that is quite different from these. If the Circassian be 
utterly void of such honour as these have, and such virtue as 
these boast of, I am content. I have detested the sound of honest 
ivoman and loving spouse, ever since I heard the pretty name of 
Odaliche. Dear Madam, I am for ever 

Your, &c. 

My most humble services to Mr. Wortley. Pray let me hear 
from you soon, though I shall very soon write again. I am con- 
fident half our letters are lost. 



CXXVI. 

This letter, written during a visit to Bolingbroke's villa at 
Dawley, gives us a pleasant ghmpse of that restless politician in 
the midst of those rural pursuits which he loved to affect. There 
is, we may suspect, more elegance than sincerity in the poet's 
language. He probably cared as little as his patron for hay- 
cocks and rakes ; though Pope, as many of his letters prove, 
was not so insensible to the beauties of the country as some of 
his critics woidd insist. 

Alexander Pope to Dean Sioift. 

Dawley : June 28, 1728. 
I now hold the pen for my Lord Bolingbroke, who is reading 
your letter between two haycocks, but his attention is somewhat 
diverted by casting his eyes on the clouds, not in admii'ation of 
what you say, but for fear of a shower. He is pleased with your 
placing him in the triumvirate between yourself and me ; though 
he says that he doubts he shall fare like Lepidus — while one of us 
runs away with all the power, like Augustus, and another with 
all the pleasures, like Antony. It is upon a foresight of this 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 195 

that lie has fitted up his farm, and you will agree that his scheme 
of retreat at least is not founded upon weak appearances. Upon 
his return from the Bath, all peccant humours he finds are purged 
out of him ; and his great temperance and economy are so signal, 
that the first is fit for my constitution, and the latter would enable 
you to lay up so much money as to bay a bishopric in England. 
As to the return of his health and vigour, were you here, you 
might inquire of his haymakers ; but as to his temperance, I can 
answer that (for one whole day) Ave have had nothing for dinner 
but mutton-broth, beans and bacon, and a barn-door fowl. 

Now his lordship is run after his cart, I have a moment left 
to myself to tell you that I overheard him yesterday agree with 
a painter for £200 to paint his country-hall with trophies of 
rakes, spades, prongs, &c., and other ornaments, merely to coun- 
tenance his calling this place a farm — now turn over a new leaf. — 
He bids me assure you he should be sorry not to have more 
schemes of kindness for his friends than of ambition for himself; 
there, though his schemes may be weak, the motives at least are 
strong ; and he says further, if you could bear as great a fall and 
decrease of your revenues as he knows by experience he can, you 
would not live in Ireland an hour. 

The ' Dunciad ' is going to be printed in all pomp, with the 
inscription, which makes me proudest* It will be attended with 
proeme, prolegomena, testimonia scriptorum, index authorum, and 
notes variorum. As to the latter, I desire you to read over the 
text, and make a few in any way you like best; whether dry 
raillery, upon the style and way of commenting of trivial critics ; 
or humorous, upon the authors in the poem ; or historical, of 
persons, places, times ; or explanatory, or collecting the parallel 
passages of the ancients. Adieu. I am pretty well, my mother 
not ill. 

Dr. Arbuthnot vexed with his fever by intervals ; I am afraid 
he declines, and we shall lose a worthy man ; I am troubled about 
him very much : I am, &c. 



196 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 



CXXVII. 

From early youth, wlien lie would compose billets-doux for 
young damsels, to tliose later days when lie corresponded with 
the coterie of ladies who criticised ' Pamela,' and ' Clarissa/ 
Samuel Richardson pursued his hobby of writing and receiving 
letters. Mrs. Barbauld published this correspondence with her 
biography of the novelist, but the interest of the letters expired 
with the century in which they were written. Mr. Aaron Hill 
was the writer who pretended to despise the public taste in 
literature of his day, and who prophesied that he would be read 
and admired when Pope was forgotten. 

Samuel Richardson to Aaron Hill. 

October 27, 1748. 

Dear Sir, — With regard to some parts of your favour of the 
nineteenth, I will only say that I am too much pained on your 
account to express anything but my pain. A mind so noble ! so 
generous ! so underrating intentional good from himself ! so over- 
rating trifling benefits from others ! But no more on this subject. 
You are an alien, Sir, in this world ; and no wonder that the 
base world treat you as such. 

You are so very earnest about transferring to me the copyright 
to all your works, that I will only say, that that point must be 
left to the future issues of things. But I will keep account. I will, 
though I were to know how to use the value of your faA^ours as to 
those issues (never can I the value of your generous intentions). 
You will allow me to repeat, I will keep account. It is therefore 
time enough to think of the blank receipt you have bad the good- 
ness to send me to fill up. 

Would to heaven that all men had the same (I am sure I may 
call it just) opinion of your works that I have ! But — shall I tell 
you. Sir'? — The world, the taste of the world, is altered since you 
withdrew from it. Your writings require thought to read, and to 
take in their whole force ; and the world has no thought to bestow. 
Simplicity is all their cry ; yet hardly do these criers know what 
they mean by the noble word. They may see a thousand beauties 
obvious to the eye : but if there lie jewels in the mine that require 
labour to come at, they will not dig. I do not think, that were 
Milton's Paradise Lost to be now published as a new work, it 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 197 

would be well received. Shakespeare, with all his beauties, would, 
as a modern writer, be hissed off the stage. Your sentiments, 
even they will have it who allow them to be noble, are too munifi- 
cently adorned : and they want you to descend to their level. 
Will you. Sir, excuse me this freedom 1 Yet I can no longer 
excuse myself, to the love and to the veneration mingled that I 
bear to you, if I do not acquaint you with what the world you 
wish to mend says of your writings. And yet for my own part, 
I am convinced that the fault lies in that indolent (that lazy, I 
should rather call it) world. You would not, I am sure, wish to 
write to a future age only. — A chance too so great, that posterity 
will be mended by what shall be handed down to them by this. 
And few, very few are they who make it their study and their 
labour, to stem the tide of popular disapprobation or prejudice. 
Besides, I am of opinion that it is necessary for a genius to 
accommodate itself to the mode and taste of the world it is cast 
into, since works published in this age must take root in it to 
flourish in the next. 

As to your title. Sir, which you are pleased to require my 
opinion of, let me premise, that there was a time, and that within 
my own remembrance, when a pompous title was almost necessary 
to promote the sale of a book. But the booksellers, whose 
business is to watch the taste and foibles of the public, soon (as 
they never fail on such occasions to do) wore out that fashion : and 
now, verifying the old observation, that good wine needs no bush, a 
pompous or laboured title is looked upon as a certain sign of want 
of merit in the performance, and hardly ever becomes an invitation 
to the purchaser. 

As to your particular title to this great work, I have your 
pardon to beg, if I refer to your consideration, whether epic, truly 
epic, as the piece is, you would choose to call it epic in the title- 
page ; since hundreds who will see the title, will not, at the time, 
have seen your admirable definition of the word. Excuse, Sir, 
this freedom also, and excuse these excuses. — I am exceedingly 
pressed in time, and shall be for some time to come, or, sloven as 
I am in my pen, this should not have gone. 

God forbid that I should have given you cause to say, as a 
recommendation, that there will be more prose than verse in your 
future works ! I believe, Sir, that Mr. Garrick in particular has 
10 



198 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

not in any manner entered into vindictive reflections. I never 
saw him on the stage ; but of late I am pretty well acquainted 
with him. I know he honours you. But he thinks you above the 
present low taste ; (this I speak in confidence) and once I heard 
him say as much, and wish that you could descend to it. Hence 
one of the reasons that have impelled me to be so bold as I have 
been in this letter. 

The occasion of the black wax 1 use, is the loss of an excellent 
sister. We loved each other tenderly ! But my frequent, I might 
say constant, disorders of the nervous kind ought to remind me, 
as a consolation, of David's self-comfort on the death of his child, 
perhaps oftener than it does, immersed as I am in my own trifles, 
and in business, that the common parental care permits me not to 
quit, though it becomes every day more irksome to me than 
another. 

I am, Sir, 

With true afiection. 

Your most faithful, 

and obedient servant 

S. BlCHARDSON. 

CXXVIII. 

This was written by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her 
future husband shortly before her marriage, and is surely one of 
the most curious love-letters ever penned by a young lady to 
her betrothed. 

She seems, however, to have been as fond of her husband as 
her cold and unwomanly nature would permit her to be of any 
man. The story of their married life is a singularly unromantic 
romance. 

, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (then Pierre20ont) to 
E. W. Montagu Esq. 

March, 1711. 
Though your letter is far from what I expected, having once 
promised to answer it, with the sincere account of my inmost 
thoughts, I am resolved you shall not find me worse than my word, 
which is (whatever you may think) inviolable. 

'Tis no aflectation to say, that I despise the pleasure of pleasing 
people whom I despise : all the fine equipages that shine in the 
ring never gave me another thought, than either pity or contempt 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 199 

for the owners, that could place happiness in attracting the eyes of 
strangers. Nothing touches me with satisfaction but what touches 
my heart, and I should find more pleasure in the secret joy I 
should feel, at a kind expression from a friend I esteemed, than at 
the admiration of a whole playhouse, or the envy of those of my 
own sex, who could not attain to the same number of jewels, fine 
clothes, &c., supposing I was at the very summit of this sort of 
happiness. 

You may be this friend if you please : did you really esteem me, 
had you any tender regard for me, I could, I think, pass my life in any 
station, happier with you, than in all the grandeur of the world with 
any other. You have some humours, that would be disagreeable to 
any woman that married with an intention of finding her happiness 
abroad. That is not my resolution. If I marry, I propose to myself 
a retirement ; there is few of my acquaintance T should ever wish to 
see again ; and the pleasing one, and only one, is the way in which I 
design to please myself. Happiness is the natural design of all the 
world ; and everything we see done, is meant in order to attain it. 
My imagination places it in friendship. By friendship, I mean an 
entire communication of thoughts, wishes, interests, and pleasures, 
being undivided ; a mutual esteem, which naturally carries with 
it a pleasing sweetness of conversation, and terminates in the 
desire of making one or another happy, without being forced to 
run into visits, noise, and hurry, which serve rather to trouble, 
than compose the thoughts of any reasonable creature. There are 
few capable of a friendship such as I have described, and 'tis 
necessary for the generality of the world to be taken up with trifles. 
Carry a fine Lady or a fine Gentleman out of town, and they know 
no more what to say. To take from them plays, operas, and 
fashions, is taking away all their topics of discourse ; and they 
know not how to form their thoughts on any other subjects. They 
know very well what it is to be admired, but are perfectly ignorant 
of what it is to be loved. I take you to have sense enough, not to 
think this science romantic : I rather choose to use the word friend- 
ship, than love; because in the general sense that word is spoke, 
it signifies a passion rather founded on fancy than reason : and 
when I say friendship, I mean a mixture of friendship and esteem 
and which a long acquaintance increases, not decays ; liow far 1 
deserve such a friendship, I can be no judge of myself: I may 



200 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

want the good sense, that is necessary to be agreeable to a man of 
merit, but I know I want the vanity to believe I have ; and can 
promise you shall never like me less, upon knowing me better ; 
and that I shall never forget that you have a better understanding 
than myself. 

And now let me entreat you to think (if possible) tolerably of 
my modesty, after so bold a declaration : I am resolved to throw 
off reserve, and use me ill if you please. I am sensible, to own 
an inclination for a man is putting one's self wholly in his power : 
but sure you have generosity enough not to abuse it. After all I 
have said, I pretend no tie but on your heart : if you do not love 
me, I shall not be happy with you ; if you do I need add no 
further. I am not mercenary, and would not receive an obligation 
that comes not from one who loves me. I do not desire my letter 
back again : you have honour and I dare trust you. I am going 
to the same place I went last spring. I shall think of you there : 
it depends upon you in what manner. 

M. P. 



CXXIX. 

We have here the first announcement of that great disco- 
very — inoculation for small-pox, which Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu was the first European to adopt. Amid much oppo- 
sition on the part of English physicians she had the courage to 
introduce it into this countr}'', inoculating by way of experiment 
her own child. 

Letdy^-Mur-ff -Wortley Montagvrio J/r5-.-AS^.-€^-^-=— =; 

Adrianople : April 1, 1717. 

In my opinion, Dear S , I ought rather to quarrel with you 

for not answering my Nimeguen letter of August till December, 
than to excuse my not writing again till now. I am sure there 
is on my side a very good excuse for silence, having gone such tire- 
some land journeys, though I don't find the conclusion of them so 
bad as you seem to imagine. I api very easy here, and not in the 
solitude you fancy me. The great number of Greeks, French, 
English, and Italians, that are under our protection, make their 
court to me from morning till night; and I'll assure you, are many 
of them very fine ladies ; for there is no possibility for a Christian 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 201 

to live easily under this government but by the protection of 
an ambassador — and the richer they are the greater is their danger. 

Those dreadful stories you have heard of the plague have very 
little foundation in truth. I own I have much ado to reconcile 
myself to the sound of a word which has always given me such 
terril^le ideas, though I am convinced there is little more in it than 
in a fever. As a proof of this, let me tell you that we passed 
through two or three towns most violently affected. In the very 
next house where we lay (in one of those places) two persons died 
of it. Luckily for me I was so well deceived that I knew nothing 
of the matter ; and I was made believe, that our second cook who 
fell ill here had only a great cold. However, we left our doctor 
to take care of him, and yesterday they both arrived here in good 
health, and I am now let into the secret that he has had the plague. 
There are many that escape it ; neither is the air ever infected. 
I am persuaded that it would be as easy a matter to root it out 
here as out of Italy and France ; but it does so little mischief, they 
are not very solicitous about it, and are content to suffer this dis- 
temper instead of our variet}'", which they are utterly unacquainted 
with. 

Apropos of distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that 
will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so fatal and so 
general amongst us, is here entirely harmless by the invention of 
ingrafting, which is the term they give it. There is a set of old 
women who make it their business to perform the operation every 
autumn, in the month of September, when the great heat is abated. 
People send to one another to know if any of their family has a 
mind to have the small-pox : they make parties for this purpose, 
and when they are met (commonly filteen or sixteen together), the 
old woman comes with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort 
of small-pox, and asks what vein you please to have opened. She 
immediately rips open that you offer to her with a large needle 
(which gives you no more pain than a common scratch), and puts 
into the vein as much matter as can lye upon the head of her 
needle, and after that binds up the little w^ound with a hollow 
bit of shell ; and in this manner opens four or five veins. The 
Grecians have commonly the superstition of opening one in the 
middle of the forehead, one in each arm, and one on the breast, to 
mark the sign of the cross ; but this has a very ill effect, all these 



202 ENGLISH LETTERS, [IGOO- 

Tvouncls leaving little scars, and is not done by those that are not 
superstitious, who choose to have them in the legs, or that part 
of the arm that is concealed. The children or young patients play 
together all the rest of the day, and are in perfect health to the 
eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and they keep their 
beds two days, very seldom three. They have very rarely above 
twenty or thirty in their faces, which never mark ; and in eight 
days' time they are as well as before their illness. When they 
are wounded, there remain running sores during the distemper, 
which I don't doubt is a great relief to it. Every year thousands 
undergo this operation; and the French ambassador says plea- 
santly, that they take the small-pox here by way of diversion, as 
they take the waters in other countries. There is no example of 
any one that has died in it ; and you may believe I am well satis- 
fied of the safety of this experiment, since I intend to try it on my 
dear little son. 

I am patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful invention 
into fashion in England ; and I should not fail to write to some of 
our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any one of them 
that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a considerable 
branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. But that dis- 
temper is too beneficial to them, not to expose to all their resent- 
ment the hardy wight that should undertake to put an end to it. 
Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however, have courage to war 
with them. Upon this occasion admire the heroism in the heart of 
your friend, &c. &c. 



cxxx. 

Contains a description of the visit of the writer both to the 
Sultana Hafiten, and to the wife of the Deputy Grand Vizier. 
In none of her famous letters from the East are Lady Mary's 
descriptive powers seen to greater advantage. Word-paintmg 
has rarely been carried farther. 

Lady Mary Worthy Montagu to the Countess of Mar. 

Adrianople: April 18, 1717. 
I wrote to you, dear Sister, and to all my other English corre- 
spondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can tell when I shall 
have another opportunity of sending to you ; but I cannot forbear 



1700] EXGLISH LETTERS. 203 

to write again, though perhaps my letter may lie upon my hands 
these two months. To confess the truth, my head is so full of my 
entertainment yesterday, that 'tis absolutely necessary for my own 
repose to give it some vent. Without further preface, I will then 
begin my story. 

I was invited to dine with the grandvizier's lady ; and it was 
with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an entertain- 
ment which was never before given to any Christian. I thought 
I should very little satisfy her curiosity (which I did not doubt 
was a considerable motive to the invitation) by going in a dress 
she was used to see, and therefore dressed myself in the court 
habit of Yienna, which is much more magnificent than ours. 
However, I chose to go incognita, to avoid any disputes about 
ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only attended by my 
woman that held up my train, and the Greek lady who was my 
interpretess. I was met at the court door by her black eunuch, 
who helped me out of the coach with great respect, and conducted 
me through several rooms, where her she-slaves, finely dressed, 
were ranged on each side. In the innermost I found the lady 
sitting on her sofa, in a sable vest. She advanced to meet me, and 
presented me half a dozen of her friends with great civility. She 
seemed a very good-looking woman, near fifty years old. I was 
surprised to observe so little magnificence in her house, the 
furniture being all very moderate; and, except the habits and 
number of her slaves, nothing about her appeared expensive. She 
guessed at my thoughts, and told me she was no longer of an age 
to spend either her time or money in superfluities ; that her whole 
expense was in charity, and her whole employment praying to God. 
There was no affectation in this speech ; both she and her husband 
are entirely given up to devotion. He never looks upon any other 
woman ; and, what is much more extraordinary, touches no bribes, 
notwithstanding the example of all his predecessors. He is so 
scrupulous on this point, he would not accept Mr. Wortley's 
present, till he had been assured over and over that it was a 
settled perquisite of his place at the entrance of every ambassador. 
She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner came in, 
which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast number, all finely 
dressed after their manner, which I don't think so bad as you have 
perhaps heard it represented. 



204 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1600^ 

I am a very good judge of their eating, having lived three 
weeks in tlie house of an eifendi at Belgrade, who gave us very 
magnificent dinners, dressed by his own cooks. The first week 
they pleased me extremely; but I own I then began to grow 
weary of their table, and desired our own cook might add a dish or 
two after our manner. But I attribute this to custom, and am 
very much inclined to believe that an Indian who had never tasted 
of either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces are 
very high, all the roast \ery much done. They use a great deal of 
very rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish ; and they 
have at least as great a variety of ragouts as we have. I was very 
sorry I could not eat of as many as the good lady would have had 
me, who was very earnest in serving me of everything. The treat 
concluded with coffee and perfumes, which is a high mark of re- 
spect ; two slaves kneeling censed my hair, clothes, and handker- 
chief. After this ceremony she commanded her slaves to play and 
dance, which they did with their guitars in their hands, and she 
excused to me their want of skill, saying she took no care to 
accomplish them in that art. 

I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave.- I was 
conducted back in the same manner I entered, and would have 
gone straight to my own house; but the Greek lady with me 
earnestly solicited me to visit the Kiyaya's ^ lady, saying he was 
the second officer in the empire, and ought indeed to be looked 
upon as the first, the grand- Vizier having only the name, while he 
exercised the authority. I had found so little diversion in the 
vizier's harem, that I had no mind to go into another. But her 
importunity prevailed with me, and I am extremely glad I was so 
complaisant. 

All things here were with quite another air than at the gi^and- 
Vizier's ;. and the very house confessed the difference between an 
old devotee and a young beauty. It was nicely clean and 
magnificent. I was met at the door by two black eunuchs, who 
led me through a long gallery between two ranks of beautiful 
young girls, with their hair finely plaited, almost hanging to their 
feet, all dressed in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver. I was 
sorry that decency did not permit me to stop to consider them nearer. 

> Kiyiiya = Lieutenant-Deputy to Grand Vizier. 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS, 205' 

But that tlioiiglit was lost upon my entrance into a large room or 
rather pavilion, built round with gilded sashes, which were most 
of them thrown up, and the trees planted near them gave an agreeable 
shade, which hindered the sun from being troublesome. The 
jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round their trunks shed 
a soft perfume, increased by a white marble fountain playing sweet 
water in the lower part of the room, which fell into three or four 
basins with a pleasing sound. The room was painted with all sorts of 
flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tumbling down. 
On a sola raised three steps, and covered with fine Persian carpets, 
sat the Kiy^ya's lady, leaning on cushions of white satin, em- 
broidered ; and at her feet sat two young girls about twelve years 
old, lovely as angels, dressed perfectly rich and almost covered 
with jewels. But they were hardly seen near the fair Fatima 
(for that is her name), so much her beauty efiaced everything I 
have seen, nay, all that has been called lovely either in England 
or Germany. I must own that I never saw anything so gloriously 
beautiful nor can I recollect a face that would have been taken 
notice of near hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me 
after their fashion, putting her hand to her heart with a sweetness 
full of majesty, that no court breeding could ever give. She ordered 
cushions to be given me, and took care to place me in the corner, 
which is the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady- 
had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I was so struck 
with admiration that I could not for some time speak to her, 
being wholly taken up in gazing. That surprising harmony of 
features, that charming result of the whole ! that exact proportion 
of body ! that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art ! the 
unutterable enchantment of her smile — But her eyes ! — large and 
black, with all the soft languishment of the blue ! every turn of 
her face discovering some new gi-ace. After my first surprise was 
over, I endeavoured by nicely examining her face, to find out 
some imperfection, without any fruit of my search, but my being 
clearly convinced of the error of that vulgar notion, that a face 
exactly proportioned, and perfectly beautiful, would not be agreeable, 
having done for her with more success, what Apelles is said to 
have essayed by a collection of the most exact features, to form a 
perfect face. 

Add to all this a behaviour so full of grace and sweetness, such 
10* 



206 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

easy motions, with an air, so majestic, yet free from stiffness or 
affectation, that I am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported 
upon the most polite throne of Europe, nobody would think her 
other than bred and born for a queen, though educated in a country 
we called barbarous. To say all in a word, our most celebrated 
English beauties would vanish near her. She was dressed in a 
caftdn of gold brocade, flowered with silver very well fitted to her 
shape and showing to admiration the beauty of her bosom, only 
shaded by the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers were pale 
pink, her waistcoat green and silver, her slippers white satin, finely 
embroidered ; her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of diamonds; 
and her broad girdle set round with diamonds ; upon her head 
a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and silver, her own fine 
black hair hanging a great length in various tresses, and on one 
side of her head some bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will 
accuse me of extravagance in this description. I think I have 
read somewhere that women always speak in rapture when they 
speak of beauty, and I cannot imagine why they should not be 
allowed to do so. I rather think it a virtue to be able to admire 
without any mixtui'e of desire or envy. The gravest writers have 
spoken with great warmth of some celebrated pictures and 
statues. The workmanship of Heaven certainly excels all our 
weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim to our 
praise. For my part, I am not ashamed to own I took more 
pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, than the finest piece 
of sculpture could have given me. She told me the two girls at 
her feet were her daughters, though she appeared too young to be 
their mother. Her fair maids were ranged below the sofa, to the 
number of twenty, and put me in mind of the pictures of the ancient 
nymphs. I did not think all nature could have furnished such a 
scene of beauty. She made them a sign to play and dance. Four 
of them immediately began to play some soft airs on instruments, 
between a lute and a guitar, which they accompanied with their 
voices, while the others danced by turns. This dance was very 
different from what I had seen before. Nothing could be more 
artful. The tunes so soft ! — the motions so languishing ! — accom- 
panied with pauses and dying eyes ! half-falling back, and then 
recovering themselves in so artful a manner. I suppose you may 
have read that the Turks have no music but what is shocking to 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 207 

the ears ; but this account is from those who never heard any but 
what is played in the streets, and is just as reasonable as if a 
foreigner should take his ideas of English music from the bladder 
and string, or the marrow-bones and cleavers. I can assure you 
that the music is extremely pathetic ; 'tis true I am inclined to 
prefer the Italian, but perhaps I am partial. I am acquainted 
with a Greek lady who sings better than Mrs. Kobinson, and is 
very well skilled in both, who gives the preference to the Turkish. 
'Tis certain they have very fine natural voices ; these were very 
agreeable. When the dance was over, four fair slaves came into 
the room with the silver censers in their hands, and perfumed the 
air with amber, aloes-wood, and other scents. After this they 
served me coffee upon their knees in the finest Japan china, with 
soucoups of silver, gilt. Then lovely Fatima entertained me all 
this while in the most polite agreeable manner, calling me often 
Guzel sultanum, or the beautiful sultana, and desiring my friend- 
ship with the best grace in the world, lamenting that she could not 
entertain me in my own language. When I took my leave two 
maids brought in a fine silver basket of embroidered handkerchiefs ; 
she begged I would wear the richest for her sake, and gave the 
others to my woman and interpretess. I retired through the same 
ceremonies as before, and could not help thinking that I had been 
some time in Mahomet's paradise, so much was I charmed with 
what I had seen. I know not how the relation of it appears to 
you. I wish it may give you part of my pleasure ; for I would 
have my dear sister share in all the diversions of. 

Yours, &c. 

CXXXI. 

There are few people who will not recognise the wisdom 
and justice of the following remarks, however paradoxically, and 
perhaps even cynically, they are stated. The writer's theory at 
all events may suggest some profitable reflections on a subject 
where reflection is rarer than it should be. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her Daughter j the Countess 
of Bute. 

Lovere : November 1, 1751. 

Dear Child, — I received yours of August 25, and my Lord 
Bute's obliging notice of your safe delivery at the same time. I 



208 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

wisli yon joy of your young son, and of every thing else. You do 
not mention your father, by which I suppose he is not returned to 
England, and am in pain for his health, having heard but once 
from him since he left it, and know not whether he has received 
my letters. I dare say you need not be in any doubt of his good 
opinion of you ; for my part, I am so far persuaded of the good- 
ness of your heart. I have often had a mind to write you a con- 
solatory epistle on my own death, which I believe will be some 
afifliction, though my life is wholly useless to you. That part of it 
which we passed together you have reason to remember with grati- 
tude, though I think you misplace it ; you are no more obliged to 
me for bringing you into the world, than I am to you for coming 
into it, and I never made use of that commonplace (and like most 
commonplace, false) argument, as exacting any return of affection. 
There was a mutual necessity on us both to part at that time, and 
no obligation on either side. In the case of your infancy, there 
was so great a mixture of instinct, I can scarce even put that in 
the number of the proofs I have given you of my love ; but I con- 
fess I think it a great one, if you compare my after conduct 
towards you with that of other mothers, who generally look on 
their children as devoted to their pleasures, and bound by duty 
to have no sentiments but what they please to give them ; play- 
things at first, and afterwards the objects on which they may 
exercise their spleen, tyranny, or ill humour. I have always 
thought of you in a different manner. Your happiness was my 
first wish, and the pursuit of all my actions, divested of all 
self-interest so far. I think you ought, and believe you do, 
remember me as your real friend. Absence and distance have not 
the power to lessen any part of my tenderness for you, which 
extends to all yours, and I am ever your most affectionate mother 

M. W. M. 

I play at whist an hour or two every afternoon. The fashion 
here is to play for the collation, so that the losers have at least the 
consolation of eating part of their money. 



1700"! ENGLISH LETTERS. 209 



cxxxn. 

In a former letter Lady Mary Wortley Montagu had sent 
some hints about the education of children j and she now con- 
tinues the topic. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to the Countess of Bute. 

February 19, 1753. 

My dear Child, — I gave you some general thoughts on the 
education of your children in my last letter; but fearing you 
should think I neglected your request, by answering it with too 
much conciseness, I am resolved to add to it what little I know 
on that subject, and which may perhaps be useful to you in a con- 
cern, with which you seem so nearly affected. 

People commonly educate their children as they build their 
houses, according to some plan they think beautiful, without con- 
sidering whether it is suited to the purposes for which they are 
designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as if they were 
to be great ladies, which is often as little to be expected, as an im- 
moderate heat of the sun in the north of Scotland. You should 
teach yours to conform their desires to probabilities, to be as 
useful as is possible to themselves, and to think privacy (as it is) 
the happiest state of life. I do not doubt your giving them all 
instructions necessary to form them to a vii-tuous life ; but 'tis a 
fatal mistake to do this, without proper restrictions. Vices are 
often hid under the name of virtues, and the practice of them 
followed by the worst of consequences. 

Sincerity, friendship, piety, disinterestedness, and generosity, 
are all great virtues ; but pursued, without discretion, become 
criminal. I have seen ladies indulge their own ill humour by 
being very rude and impertinent, and think they deserved approba- 
tion, by saying I love to speak truth. One of your acquaintances 
made a ball the next day after her mother died, to shew she was 
sincere. I believe your own reflection will furnish you with but 
too many examples of the ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I 
have mentioned, when too warmly embraced. They are generally 
recommended to young people without limits or distinction, and 
this prejudice hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are 



210 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

applauding themselves on the noble practice (as they fancy) of very 
eminent virtues. 

I cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you), that I 
wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your chil- 
dren. I do not mean you should abate any part of your care, or 
not do your duty to them in its utmost extent ; but I would have 
you early prepare yourself for disappointments, which are heavy in 
proportion to their being surprising. It is hardly possible, in such 
a number, that none should be unhappy ; prepare yourself against 
a misfortune of that kind. I confess there is hardly any more 
difficult to support; yet, it is certain, imagination has a great 
share in the pain of it, and it is more in our power (than it is 
commonly believed) to soften whatever ills are founded or aug- 
mented by fancy. Strictly speaking, there is but one real evil, I 
mean acute pain ; all other complaints are so considerably dimi- 
nished by time, that it is plain the grief is owing to our passion, 
since the sensation of it vanishes when that is over. 

There is another mistake, I forgot to mention, usual in 
mothers : if any of their daughters are beauties, they take great 
pains to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least that they 
think so, which the young woman never fails to believe springs 
from envy, and is perhaps not much in the wrong. I would, if 
possible, give them a just notion of their figure, and shew them 
how far it is valuable. Every advantage has its price, and may be 
either over or undervalued. It is the common doctrine of (what 
are called) good books, to ins})ire a contempt of beauty, riches, 
greatness, &c. which has done as much mischief among the young 
of our sex as an over eager desire of them. Why they should not 
look on those things as blessings where they are bestowed, though 
not necessaries that it is impossible to be happy without, I cannot 
conceive. I am persuaded the ruin of lady was in great mea- 
sure owing to the notions given her by the good people that had 
the care of her. 'Tis true, her circumstances and your daughters 
are very different : they should be taught to be content with 
privacy, and yet not neglect good fortune, if it should be oflered 
them. 

I am afraid I have tired you with my instructions. I do not 
give them as believing my age has furnished me with superior 
wisdom, but in compliance with your desire, and being fond of 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 211 

every opportunity that gives a proof of the tenderness with which 
I am ever 

YoLir affectionate mother 

M. WORTLEY. 

I should be glad if you sent me the third volume of Campbell's 
Architecture, and with it any other entertaining books. I have 
seen the Duchess of Marlborough's IMemoirs, but should be glad of 
the apology for a late resignation. As to the ale, 'tis now so late 
in the year, it is impossible it should come good. You do nob 
mention your father ; my last letter from him told me he intended 
soon for England. 



cxxxni. 

This letter was evidently written after reading the political 
and philosophical works of Lord Bolinghroke, which had been 
published by Mallet the year before. A better criticism of that 
brilliant and unprincipled statesman could scarcely be found ; the 
estimate of Madame de Sevigne must be received with some 
caution. 

Lady Mary Worthy Montagu to the Countess of Bute. 

Lovere: July 20, 1754. 
My dear Child, — I have now read over the books you were so 
good to send, and intend to say something of them all, though 
some are not worth speaking of. I shall begin, in respect to his 
dignity, with Lord Bolingbroke, who is a glaring proof how far 
vanity can blind a man, and how easy it is to varnish over to one's 
self the most criminal conduct. He declares he always loved his 
country, though he confesses he endeavoured to betray her to 
popery and slavery ; and loved his friends, though he abandoned 
them in distress, with all the blackest circumstances of treachery. 
His account of the peace of LTtrecht is almost equally unfair or 
partial. I shall allow that, perhaps, the views of the Whigs, at 
that time, were too vast, and the nation, dazzled by military glory, 
had hopes too sanguine; but surely the same terms that the 
French consented to, at the treaty of Gertruydenberg, might have 
been obtained ; or if the displacing of the Duke of Marlborough 
raised the spirits of our enemies to a degree of refusing what they 
had before offered, how can he excuse the guilt of removing him 
from the head of a victorious army, and exposing us to submit 



212 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

to any articles of peace, being unable to continue the war? I 
agi-ee with him, that the idea of conquering France is a wild extra- 
vagant notion, and would, if possible, be impolitic; but she might 
have been reduced to such a state, as would have rendered her 
incapable of being terrible to her neighbours for some ages : nor 
should we have been obliged, as we have done almost ever since, to 
bribe the French ministers to let us live in quiet. So much for his 
political reasonings, which I confess, are delivered in a florid, easy 
style ; but I cannot be of Lord Orrery's opinion, that he is one of 
the best English writers. Well turned periods, or smooth lines, 
are not the perfection either of prose or verse ; they may serve to 
adorn, but can never stand in the place of good sense. Copious- 
ness of words, however ranged, is always false eloquence, though it 
will ever impose on some sort of understandings. How many 
readers and admirers has Madame de Sevigne, who only gives us, 
in a lively manner, and fashionable phrases, mean sentiments, 
vulgar prejudices, and endless repetitions % Sometimes the tittle 
tatUe of a fine lady, sometimes that of an old nurse, always tittle 
tattle ; yet so well gilt over by airy expressions, and a flowing 
style, she will always please the same people to whom Lord 
Bolingbroke will shine as a first rate author. She is so far to be 
excused, as her letters were not intended for the press ; while he 
labours to display to posterity all the wit and learning he is master 
of, and sometimes spoils a good argument by a profusion of words, 
running out into several pages a thought that might have been 
more clearly expressed in a few lines, and, what is more, often falls 
into contradiction and repetitions, which are almost unavoidable to 
all voluminous writers, and can only be forgiven to those retailers, 
whose necessity compels them to diurnal scribbling, who load their 
meaning with epithets, and run into digressions, because (in the 
jockey phrase) it rids ground, that is, covers a certain quantity of 
paper, to answer the demand of the day. A gi^eat part of Lord 
Bolingbroke's letters are designed to shew his reading, which, in- 
deed, appears to have been very extensive ; but I cannot perceive 
that such a minute account of it can be of any use to the pupil he 
pretends to instruct, nor can I help thinking he is far below either 
Tillotson or Addison, even in style, though the latter was some- 
times more difl'use than his judgment approved, to furnish out 
the length of a daily ' Spectator.' I own I have small regard for 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 213 

Lord !Bolingbroke as an author, and the highest contempt for him 
as a man. He came into the world greatly favonred both by 
nature and fortune, blest with a noble birth, heir to a large estate, 
endowed with a strong constitution, and, as I have heard, a 
beautiful figure, high spiiits, a good memory, and a lively appre- 
hension, which was cultivated by a learned education : all these 
glorious advantages, being left to the direction of a judgment 
stifled by unbounded vanity, he dishonoured his birth, lost his 
estate, ruined his reputation, and destroyed his health, by a wild 
pursuit of eminence even in vice and trifles. 

I am far from making misfortune a matter of reproach. I 
know there are accidental occurrences not to be foreseen or 
avoided by human prudence, by which a character may be injured, 
wealth dissipated, or a constitution impaii*ed : but I think I may 
reasonably despise the understanding of one who conducts himself 
in such a manner as naturally produces such lamentable con- 
sequences, and continues in the same destructive paths to the end 
of a long life, ostentatiously boiisting of morals and philosophy in 
print, and with equal ostentation bragging of the scenes of low 
debauchery in public conversation, though deplorably weak both in 
mind and body, and his virtue and his vigour in a state of non- 
existence. His confederacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind 
of that of Bessus and his sword-men, in the King and No King, 
who endeavour to support themselves by giving certificates of each 
other's merit. 

Pope has triumphantly declared that they may do and say 
whatever silly things they please, they will still be the greatest 
geniuses nature ever exhibited. I am delighted with the com- 
parison given of their benevolence, which is indeed most aptly 
figured by a circle in the water, which widens till it comes to 
nothing at all ; but I am provoked at Lord Bolingbroke's mis- 
representation of my favourite Atticus, who seems to have been 
tbe only Poman that, from good sense, had a true notion of the 
times in which he lived; in which the republic was inevitably 
perishing, and the two factions, who pretended to support it, 
equally endeavouring to gratify their ambition in its ruin. A 
wise man, in that case, would certainly declare for neither, and try 
to save himself and family from the general wreck, which could 
not be done but by a superiority of understanding acknowledged 



214 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

on both sides. I see no glory in losing life or fortune by being the 
dupe of either, and very much applaud the conduct which could 
preserve an universal esteem amidst the fury of opposite parties. 
We are obliged to act vigorously, where action can do any good ; 
but in a storm, when it is impossible to work with success, the 
best hands and ablest pilots may laudably gain the shore if they 
can. Atticus could be a friend to men, without awaking their 
resentment, and be satisfied with his own virtue without seeking 
popular fame : he had the reward of his wisdom in his tranquillity, 
and will ever stand among the few examples of true philosophy, 
either ancient or modern. 

You must forgive this tedious dissertation. I hope you read 
in the same spirit I write, and take as proofs of affection whatever 
is sent you by your truly affectionate mother, 

M. WORTLEY. 

CXXXIV. 

From the year 1739 to the year 1761 Lady Wortley Mon- 
tagu resided in Italy, keeping up a continual correspondence 
with her daughter and other friends in England. To this period 
belong some of the most charming of her letters. They are les3 
ambitious and elaborate than her more celebrated letters written 
during Mr. Wortley's Embassy. 

The graceful cynicism of Horace and Pope has perhaps 
never been more successfully reproduced in prose than in the 
following letter. 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her Daughter, the Countess 
of Bute. 

Lovere : September 30, 1757. 

My dear Child, — Lord Bute has been so obliging as to let me 
know your safe delivery, and the birth of another daughter : may 
she be as meritorious in your eyes as you are in mine ! I can 
wish nothing better to you both, though I have some reproaches to 
make you. 

Daughter ! daughter ! don't call names ; you are always 
abusing my pleasures, which is what no mortal will bear. Trash, 
lumber, sad stuff, are the titles you give to my favourite amuse- 
ment. If I called a white staff a stick of wood, a gold key gilded 
brass, and the ensigns of illustrious orders coloured strings, this 
may be philosophically true, but would be very ill received. V/e 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 215 

have all our playthings ; happy are they that can be contented 
with those they can obtain: those hours are spent in the wisest 
manner, that can easiest shade the ills of life, and are the least pro- 
ductive of ill consequences. I think my time better employed in 
reading the adventures of imaginary people, than the Duchess of 
Marlborough, who passed the latter years of her life in paddling 
with her will, and contriving schemes of plaguing some, and ex- 
tracting praise from othei's, to no purpose ; eternally disappointed 
and eternally fretting. The active scenes are over at my age. I 
indulge, with all the art I can, my taste for reading. If I would 
confine it to valuable books, they are almost as rare as valuable 
men. I must be content with what I can find. As I approach a. 
second childhood, I endeavour to enter into the pleasures of it. 
Your youngest son is, perhaps, at this very moment riding on a 
poker, with great delight, not at all regretting that it is not a gold 
one, and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, which he could 
not know how to manage. I am reading an idle tale, not expect- 
ing wit or truth in it, and am very glad it is not metaphysics to 
puzzle my judgment, or history to mislead my opinion : he fortifies 
his health by exercise; I calm my cares by oblivion. The me- 
thods may appear low to busy people ; but, if he improves his 
strength and I forget my infirmities, we both attain very desirable 
ends. 

I have not heard of your father of a long time. I hope he is 
well, because you do not mention him. 

T am ever dear child, 
Your most aflfectionate mother, 

M. WORTLEY. 

cxxxv. 

The letters of the Earl of Chesterfield to his son (nearly 
400 in number) extend over a period of thirty years. The 
earliest date is 1738 ; the last epistle was written on Oct. 
17, 1768. The following month Philip Stanhope died; his 
father survived him by nearly five years. In 1774, the son's 
widow — Mrs. Eugenia Stanhope — published the correspondence, 
but the letters were never intended for publication. Lord 
Macaulay, writing to Mr. Napier in 1833, remarked : ' When I 
said that Lord Chesterfield had lost by the publication of his 
letters, I of course considered that he had much to lose ; that he 
has left an immense reputation, founded on the testimony of all 



216 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

liis contemporaries of all parties, for wit, taste, and eloquence ; 
that wkat remains of his Parliamentary oratory is superior to 
anything of that time that has come down to us, except a little 
of Pitt's. The utmost that can he said of the letters is that 
they are the letters of a cleverish man ; and there are not many 
which are entitled even to that praise. I think he would have 
stood higher if we had been left to judge of his powers — as we 
judge of those of Chatham, Mansfield, and Lord Townsend, and 
man}^ others — only by tradition, and by fragments of speeches 
preserved in Parliamentar}^ reports.' 

The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son, Philip Stanhope, Esq. 

London : November 24, 1747. 

Dear Boy, — As often as I write to you (and that yon know is 
pretty often) so often am I in doubt whether it is to any purpose, 
and whether it is not labour and paper lost. This entirely depends 
upon the degree of reason and reflection whicli you are master of, or 
think proper to exert. If you give yourself time to think, and have 
sense enough to think right, two reflections must necessarily occur 
to you ; the one is, that I have a great deal of experience and that 
you have none ; the other is, that I am the only man living who 
cannot have, directly or indirectly, any interest concerning you, 
but your own. From which two undeniable principles, the obvious 
and necessary conclusion is, that you ought, for your own sake, to 
attend to and follow my advice. 

If, by the application which I recommend to you, you acquire 
great knowledge, you alone are the gainer ; I pay for it. If you 
should deserve either a good or a bad character, mine will be 
exactly what it is now, and will neither be the better in the first 
case, nor the worse in the latter. You alone will be the gainer or 
the loser. 

Whatever your pleasures may be, I neither can nor shall 
envy you them, as old people are sometimes suspected, by young 
people, to do ; and I shall only lament, if they should prove such 
as are unbecoming a man of honour, or below a man of sense. 
But you will be the real sufferer, if they are such. As therefore 
it is plain that I have no other motive than that of affection in 
whatever I say to you, you ought to look upon me as your best, 
and for some years to come, your only friend. 

True friendship requires certain proportions of age and 
manners, a,nd can never subsist where they are extremely different, 
except in the relations of parent and child ; where affection on one 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 217 

side, and regard on the other, make np the difference. The friend- 
ship which you may contract with people of your own age, may be 
sincere, may be warm ; but must be for some time reciprocally 
■unprofitable, as there can be no experience on either side. 

The young leading the young, is like the blind leading the 
blind ; * they will both fall into the ditch.' The only sure guide is 
he who has often gone the road which you want to go. Let me be 
that guide : who have gone all roads ; and who can consequently 
point out to you the best. If you ask me why I went any of the 
bad roads myself, I will answer you very truly, that is for want of 
a good guide ; ill example invited me one way, and a good guide 
was wanting to show me a better. But if anybody, capable of 
advising me, had taken the same pains with me, which I have taken, 
and will continue to take with you, I should have avoided many 
follies and inconveniences, which undirected youth ran me into. 
My father was neither able nor desirous to advise me ; which is 
what I hope you cannot say of yours. You see that I make use 
only of the word advise ; because I would much rather have the 
assent of your reason to my advice, than the submission of your 
will to my authority. This, I persuade myself, will happen, from 
that degree of sense which I think you have ; and therefore I will 
go on advising, and with hopes of success. You are now settled 
for some time at Leipsic : the principal object of your stay there is 
the knowledge of books and sciences ; which if yqu do not, by 
attention and application, make yourself master of while you are 
there, you will be ignorant of them all the rest of your life : and 
take my word for it a life of ignorance is not only a very con- 
temptible, but a very tiresome one. Kedouble your attention, 
then, to M'^ Harte, in your private studies of the Literse Humaniores, 
especially Greek. State your difficulties whenever you have any ; 
do not suppress them either from mistaken shame, lazy indifference 
or in order to have done the sooner. Do the same with Professor 
Mascow, or any other professor. 

Yv^hen you have thus usefully employed your mornings, you 
may with a safe conscience divert yourself in the evenings, and 
make those evenings very useful too, by passing them in good 
company, and, by observation and attention, learning as much of 
the world as Leipsic can teach you. You will observe and imitate 
the manners of the people of the best fashion there ; not that they 



218 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

are (it may be) tlie best manners in the world ; but because they 
are the best manners of the place where you are, to which a man 
of sense always conforms. The nature of things is always and 
everywhere the same : but the modes of them vary, more or less 
in every country ; and an easy and genteel conformity to them, or 
rather the assuming of them at proper times and in proper places, 
is what particularly constitutes a man of the world, and a well- 
bred man. 

Here is advice enough I think, and too much it may be you will 
think, for one letter : if you follow it, you will get knowledge, 
character and pleasure by it ; if you do not, I only lose operam et 
oleum, which, in all events, I do not grudge you. 

I send you by a person who sets out this day for Leipsic, a small 
packet containing some valuable things which you left behind ; to 
which I have added, by way of New Year's gift, a very pretty 
tooth-pick case : and, by the way, pray take care of your teeth, and 
keep them extremely clean. I have likewise sent you the Greek 
roots lately translated into English from the French of the Port 
Koyal. Inform yourself what the Port Koyal is. To conclude, 
with a quibble : I hope you will not only feed upon the Greek 
roots, but likewise digest them perfectly. 

Adieu. 



CXXXVI. 

The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son. 

London: December 18, 1747. 
Dear Boy, — As two mails are now due from Holland I have 
no letters of your's or M'^ Harte's to acknowledge, so that this 
letter is the effect of that scribendi cacoethes, which my fears, my 
hopes, and my doubts concerning you, give me. When I have 
wrote you a very long letter upon any subject, it is no sooner 
gone but I think I have omitted something in it which might be of 
use to you, and then I prepare the supplement for the next post ; or 
else some new subject occurs to me, upon which I fancy I can 
give you some information, or point out some rules, which may be 
advantageous to you. This sets me to writing again, though God 
knows whether to any purpose or not : a few years more can only 
ascertain that. But, whatever my success may be my anxiety 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 219 

and my care can only be the effects of that tender affection which 
I have for you, and which you cannot represent to yourself greater 
than it really is. But do not mistake the nature of that affection, 
and think it of a kind that you may with impunity abuse. It is 
not natural affection, there being in reality no such thing ; for, if 
there were, some inward sentiment must necessarily and recipro- 
cally discover the parent to the child, and the child to the parent 
without any exterior indications, knowledge, or acquaintance what- 
soever; which never happened since the creation of the world, 
whatever Poets, Romance or Novel-writers and such sentiment- 
mongers, may be pleased to say to the contrary. Neither is my 
affection for you that of a mother, of which the only, or at least the 
chief, objects are health and life : I wish you them both most 
heartily ; but at the same time I confess they are by no means my 
principal care. 

My object is to have you fit to live ; which if you are not, I do not 
desii-e that you should live at all. My affection for you then is, 
and only will be, proportioned to your merit ; which is the only 
affection that one rational being ought to have for another. 

Hitherto I have discovered nothing wrong in your heart or 
head : on the contrary, I think I see sense in the one and senti- 
ments in the other. This persuasion is the only motive for my 
present affection ; which will either increase or diminish according 
to your merit or demerit. If you have the knowledge, the honour, 
and the probity which you may have, the marks and warmth of 
my affection shall amply reward them ; but if you have them not, 
my aversion and indignation will ris in the same proportion ; and 
in that case, remember that I am under no further obligation 
than to give you the necessary means of subsisting. If ever we 
quarrel, do not expect or depend upon any weakness in my nature, 
for a reconciliation, as children frequently do, and often meet with, 
from silly parents. I have no such weakness about me ; and as I 
will never quarrel with you but upon some essential point, if once we 
quarrel I will never forgive. But I hope and believe that this 
declaration (for it is no threat) will prove unnecessary. You are 
no stranger to the principles of virtue ; and surely who ever knows 
virtue must love it. As for knowledge you have already enough 
of it to engage you to acquire more. The ignorant only either 
despise it, or think that they have enough : those who have the 



220 EXGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

most are always the most desirous to have more, and know that 
the most they can have is alas ! but too little. 

Reconsider from time to time, and retain the friendly advice 
which I send you. The advantage will be all your own. 



oxxxvn. 

* Aiitres temps autres moeiirs ' may certainly noio be said of 
the remarks made in this epistle concerning music. When 
the Earl of Chesterfield was a young man, music was the only 
tine art encouraged by his sovereign ; indeed George I. was 
himself a performer on the violin. Perhaps this was a reason 
why the Earl laboured to make a fashionable and refined man 
of the rough and homely ' heir apparent ' to the English throne. 

The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son, 

London : April 19, 1749. 

Dear Boy, — This letter will, I believe, still find you at Yenico, 
in all the dissipations of Masquerades, Kidottos, Operas, &c. ; with 
all my heart ; they are decent evening amusements, and very pro- 
perly succeed that serious application to which I am sure you de- 
vote your mornings. 

There are liberal and illiberal pleasures, as well as liberal and 
illiberal arts. There are some pleasures that degrade a gentleman, 
as much as some trades could do. Sottish drinking, indiscriminate 
gluttony, driving coaches, rustic sports such as fox-chases, horse- 
races, (fee, are in my opinion infinitely below the honest and indus- 
trious professions of a tailor, and a shoemaker, which are said to 
deroger. 

As you are now in a musical country where singing, fiddling, 
and piping, are not only the common topics of conversation, but 
almost the principal objects of attention; I cannot help cautioning 
you against giving into those (I will call them illiberal) pleasures 
(though music is commonly reckoned one of the liberal arts) to the 
degree that most of your countrymen do when they travel in Italy. 
If you love music, hear it ; go to operas, concerts, and pay fiddlers 
to play to you ; but I insist on your neither piping nor fiddling 
yourself. It puts a gentleman in a very frivolous, contemptible 
light ; brings him into a great deal of bad company ; and takes up 
a great deal of time which might be much better employed. Few 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 221 

things would mortify me more than to see you bearing part in a 
concert with a fiddle under your chin or a pipe in your mouth. 

I have had a great deal of conversation with Comte du Perron 
and Comte Lascaris, upon your subject ; and I will tell you, very 
truly, what Comte de Perron (who is, in my opinion, a very pretty 
man) said of you. ' II a de I'esprit, un savoir peu commun a son 
age, une grande vivacite, et quand il aura pris des manieres il sera 
jDarfait ; car il faut avouer qu'il sent encore le college ; mais cela 
viendra.' I was very glad to hear from one whom I think so good a 
judge, that you wanted nothing but des manieres , which I am con- 
vinced you will now soon acquire in the company which hencefor- 
wards you are likely to keep. But I must add too, that if you 
should not acquire them, all the rest will be of very little use to 
you. By manih-es I do not mean bare common civility ; every- 
body must have that who would not be kicked out of company : 
but I mean engaging, insinuating, shining manners; a distinguished 
politeness, an almost irresistible address ; a superior gracefulness 
in all you say and do. It is this alone that can give all your other 
talents their full lustre and value ; and consequently it is this 
which should now be the principal object of your attention. Ob- 
serve minutely, wherever you go, the allowed and established 
models of good breeding, and form yourself upon them. Whatever 
pleases you most in others will infallibly please others in you. I 
have often repeated this to you ; now is your time of putting it in 
practice. 

Pray make my compliments to Mr. Harte; and tell him I 
have received his letter from Vienna, but that I shall not trouble 
him till I have received the other letter he promises me upon the 
subject of one of my last. I long to hear from him after your 
settlement at Turin ; the months that you are to pass there will be 
very decisive ones for you. The exercises of the Academy, and the 
manners of Courts must be attended to and acquired, and, at the 
same time your other studies continued. I am sure you will not 
pass, nor desire, one single idle hour there ; for I do not foresee 
that you can, in any part of your life, put out six months to greater 
interest than those next six at Turin. 

We will talk hereafter about your stay at Rome and in other 
oarts of Italy. This only I will recommend to you ; which is, to 
jxtract the spirit of every place you go to. In those places, which 
11 



222 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

are only distiiignislied by classical fame, and valuable, remains of 
antiquity, have your classics in your hand, and in your head; com- 
pare the ancient geography and descriptions with the modern ; and 
never fail to take notes. Rome will furnish you with business 
enough of that sort ; but then it furnishes you with many other 
objects well deserving your attention, such as deep ecclesiastical 
craft and policy. Adieu. 



CXXXVIII. 

The Earl of Chesterfield to his Son. 

London : August 10, 1749. 

Dear Boy, — Let us resume our reflections upon men, their 
characters, their manners; in a word, our reflections upon the 
World. 

They may help you to form yourself, and to know others. A 
knowledge very useful at all ages, very rare at yours : it seems as if 
it were no body's business to communicate it to young men. Their 
masters teach them, singly, the languages, or the sciences of their 
several departments ; and are indeed generally incapable' of teach- 
ing them the World : their Parents are often so too, or at least neg- 
lect doing it; either from avocations, indiff*erence, or from an 
opinion, that throwing them into the world (as they call it) is the 
best way of teaching it them. This last notion is in a great degree 
true ; that is, the World can doubtless never be well known by 
theory ; practice is absolutely necessary ; but, surely, it is of gi'eat 
use to a young man, before he sets out for that country, full of 
mazes, windings, and turnings, to have at least a general map of 
it, made by some experienced traveller. 

There is a certain dignity of manners absolutely necessary, to 
make even the most valuable character either respected or re- 
spectable. 

Horse-play, romping, frequent and loud fits of laughter, jokes, 
waggery, and indiscriminate familiarity, will sink both merit and 
knowledge into a degree of contempt. They compose at most a 
merry fellow ; and a merry fellow was never yet a respectable 
man. Indiscriminate familiarity, either ofiends your superiors, or 
else dubs you their dependent, and led captain. It gives your in- 
feriors, just, but troublesome and improper claims of equality. A 



1700] ENGLISH LETTERS. 223 

joker is near akin to a buffoon ; and neither of them is the least 
related to wit. Whoever is admitted or sought for, in company, 
upon any other account than that of his merit and manners, is 
never respected there, but only made use of. We will have such- 
a-one, for he sings prettily ; we Avill invite such-a-one to a ball, for 
he dances well ; we will have such-a-one at supper, for he is always 
joking and laughing ; we will ask another, because he plays deep 
at all games, or because he can drink a great deal. These are 
all vilifying distinctions, mortifying preferences, and exclude 
all ideas of esteem and regard. Whoever is had (as it is called) in 
company, for the sake of any one thing singly, is singly that thing, 
and will never be considered in any other light ; frequently never 
respected, let his merits be what they will. 

This dignity of manners, which I recommend so much to you, 
is not only as different from pride, as true courage is from bluster- 
ing, or true wit from joking ; but is absolutely inconsistent with 
it ; for nothing vilifies and degrades more than pride. The pre- 
tensions of the proud man, are oftener treated with sneer and con- 
tempt, than with indignation : as we offer ridiculously too little to 
a tradesman, who asks ridiculously too much for his goods ; but we 
do not haggle with one who only asks a just and reasonable price. 

Abject flattery and indiscriminate assentation degi-ade, as much 
as indiscriminate contradiction and noisy debate disgust. But a 
modest assertion of one's own opinion ; and a complaisant acquies- 
cence in other people's, preserve dignity. 

Vulgar, low expressions, awkward motions and address, vilify, 
as they imply, either a very low turn of mind, or low education, 
and low company. 

Frivolous curiosity about trifles, and a laborious attention to 
little objects, which neither require nor deserve a moment's 
thought, lower a man ; who from thence is thought (and not un- 
justly) incapable of greater matters. Cardinal de Retz, very 
sagaciously marked out Cardinal Chigi for a little mind, from the 
moment that he told him he had wrote three years with the same 
pen, and that it was an excellent good one still. 

A certain degree of exterior seriousness in looks and motions, 
gives dignity, without excluding wit and decent cheerfulness, which 
are always serious themselves. A constant smirk upon the face, 
and a whiffling activity of the body, are strong indications of 



224 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1600- 

futility. Wrhoever is in a hurry, shows that the thing he is ahout 
is too big for him. Haste and hurry are very different things. I 
have only mentioned some of those things which may, and do, in 
the opinion of the world, lower and sink characters, in other re- 
spects valuable enough ; but I have taken no notice of those that 
affect and sink the moral character. They are sufficiently obvious. 
A man who has patiently been kicked, may as well pretend to 
courage, as a man blasted by vices and crimes may to dignity of any 
kind. But an exterior decency and dignity of manners, will even 
keep such a man longer from sinking, than otherwise he would be : 
of such consequence is the to irpeTrov, even though affected and put 
on ! Pray read frequently, and with the utmost attention, nay get 
by heart if you can, that incomparable chapter in Cicero's Offices, 
upon the to Trpeirov or the Decorum. It contains whatever is neces- 
sary for the dignity of Manners. In my next, I will send you a 
general map of Courts ; a region yet unexplored by you ; but 
which you are one day to inhabit. The ways are generally crooked 
and full of turniogs, sometimes strewed with flowers, sometimes 
choked up v/ith briars ; rotten ground and deep pits frequently lie 
concealed under a smooth and pleasing surface : all the paths are 
slippery, and every slip is dangerous. Sense and discretion must 
accompany you at your first setting out ; but, notwithstanding 
those, till experience is your guide, you will every now and then 
step out of your way, or stumble. Lady Chesterfield has just now 
received your German letter, for which she thanks you ; she says 
the language is very correct; and I can plainly seethe character is 
well formed, not to say better than your English chai-acter. Con- 
tinue to write German frequently, that it may become quite 
familiar to you. Adieu. 

CXXXIX. 

This letter, from a person not otherwise known, contains 
some important information, brightly recorded, regarding the 
famous actress Mrs. Oldfield, and the no less famous dramatist, 
George Farquhar. 

Charles Taylour to the Publisher Rich. 

November 25, 1730. 
Sir, — In your memoirs of Mrs. Oldfield it may not be amiss to 
insert the following facts, on the truth of which you may depend. 



17001 ENGLISH LETTERS. 225 

Her father, Capt. Oldfieldj not only ran out all tlie military, but 
the paternal bounds of his fortune, having a pretty estate in houses 
in Pall Mall. It was wholly owing to Capt. Farquhar that 
Mrs. Oldfield became an actress, from the following incident ; din- 
ing one day at her aunt's, who kept the Mitre Tavern in St. James' 
Market, the poet heard Miss Nanny reading a play behind the bar 
with so proper an emphasis, and such agreeable turns, suitable to 
each character, that he swore the girl was cut out for the stage, for 
which she had before always expressed an inclination, being very de- 
sirous to try her fortune that way. Her mother, the next time she 
saw Mr. Yanbrugh, who had a great respect for the family, told 
him what was Capt. Farquhar's opinion, upon which he desired to 
know whether, in the plays she read, her fancy was most pleased 
with tragedy or comedy ; miss, being called in, said ' comedy,' she 
having at that time gone through all Beaumont and Fletcher's 
comedies, and the play she was reading, when Capt. Farquhar 
dined there, being ' The Scornful Lady.' Mr. Yanbrugh, shortly 
after, recommended her to Mr. Christopher Rich, who took her 
into the theatre at the allowance of fifteen shillings a week. How- 
ever, her agreeable figure and sweetness of voice, soon gave her the 
preference, in the opinion of the whole town, to all our young 
actresses, and his Grace, the late Duke of Bedford, being pleased 
to speak to Mr. Bich in her favour, he instantly raised her allow- 
ance to twenty shillings a week ; her fame and salary soon after- 
wards rose to her just merit. 

Your humble Servant, 

Charles Taylour. 



SECTION III. 

A.D. 1700-1800. 



CXL, 

The rise and progress of Methodism is as marked a feature 
of the reign of George II,, as the spread of Puritanism is of the 
reign of Queen Elizabeth. The Puritans were called into being 
by the injudicious activity of the Queen and her prelates 
against a body of men whose religious zeal rejected the supersti- 
tious ceremonies which were retained in order to win over the 
English Roman Catholics to the reformed faith : the Methodists 
supplied a want ; their purpose was to infuse a little enthusiasm 
and discipline among the slack and lifeless regular clergy. 
Both Bishop Bm-net, the Whig, and Bishop Atterbury, the 
Tory, coincide in their estimate of the sorry state of public wor- 
ship at this period. If field-preaching was common in many 
popular districts, it was because there were no churches in them. 
No wonder then, that, as the Puritans grew from being an insig- 
nificant sect into a powerful political faction, the followers of 
John Wesley, in England alone, should have numbered 71,000 
the year of their founder's death. 

John Wesley to a Friend, 

• London: December 20, 1751. 

My dear Friend, — I think the right metliod of preaching is 
this. At our first beginning to preach at any place, after a 
general declaration of the love of God to sinners, and His willing- 
ness that they should be saved, to preach the law, in the strongest, 
the closest, the most searching manner possible. 

After more and more persons are convinced of sin, we may 
mix more and more of the gospel, in order to beget faith, to raise 
into spiritual life those whom the law hath slain. I would not 
advise to preach the law without the gospel, any more than the 
gospel without the law. Undoubtedly, both should be preached 
in their turns ; yea, both at once, or both in one. All the con- 
ditional promises are instances of this. They are law and gospel 
mixed together. 

In this manner, not only my brother and I, but Mr. Maxfield, 
Nelson, James Jones, Westall, and Reeves, all preached at the 
11* 



230 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

beginning. By tliis preaching, it pleased God to work those 
mighty eflfects in London, Bristol, Kingswood, Yorkshire, and 
Newcastle. By means of this, twenty-nine persons received 
remission of sins, in one day, at Bristol only; most of them, 
while I was opening and enforcing oiu' Lord's sermon on the 
mount. In this manner John Downes, John Bennet, John 
Haughton, and all the other Methodists, preached, till James 
Wheatley came among them. The change he has introduced has 
done great harm to David Tratham, Thomas Webb, Robert Swin- 
dells, and John Maddern ; all of whom are but shadows of what 
they were. It has likewise done great harm to hearers as well as 
preachers, diffusing among them a prejudice against the scriptural 
Methodist manner of preaching Christ, so that they can no longer 
hear the plain old truth, with profit or pleasure, nay hardly with 
patience. The gospel preachers, so called, corrupt their hearers, 
and they vitiate their taste. They feed them with sweetmeats, 
till the genuine wine of the Kingdom seems quite insipid to them. 
They give them cordial upon cordial, which make them all life 
and spirit for the present; but, meantime, their appetite is de- 
stroyed, so that they can neither retain nor digest the pure milk of 
the word. 

According to the constant observations I have made, in all 
parts both of England and Ireland, preachers of this kind spread 
death, not life, among their hearers. This was the case when I 
went last into the north. For some time before my coming, John 
Downes had scarce been able to preach at all ; the three others, 
in the round, were such as style themselves * gospel preachers.' 
When I came to review the societies, with great expectation of 
finding a vast increase, I found most of them lessened by one 
third. One was entirely broken up. That of Newcastle was less 
by a hundred members than when I visited it before ; and, of 
those that remained, the far greater number, in every place, were 
cold, weary, heartless, and dead. Such were the blessed effects of 
this ^ospe^preaching ! of this new method oi jyi'eaching Christ. 

On the other hand, when, in my return, I took an account of 
the societies in Yorkshire, chiefly under the care of John Nelson, 
one of the old way, I found them all alive, strong, and vigorous of 
oul, believing, loving, and praising God their Saviour ; and in- 
creased in number from eighteen or nineteen hundi-ed to upwards 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 231 

of three thoasand. These had been continually fed with "whole- 
some food. From the beginning they had been taught both the 
law and the gospel. God loves you; therefore love and obey 
Him. Christ died for you ; therefore die to sin. Christ is risen ; 
therefore rise in the image of God. Christ liveth evermore; 
therefore live to God, till you live with Him in glory. 

So we preached ; and so you believed. This is the scriptural 
way, the Methodist way, the true way. God grant we may 
never tiu-n therefrom, to the right hand or to the left. 

I am, my dear friend, your ever affectionate brother, 

John Wesley. 

CXLL 

Would that a few ' gospel-preachers ' would take this bit of 
advice to heart. 

John Wesley to John Kiwj {one of his Preachers in America). 
• Near Leeds : July 23, 1775. 

My dear Brother, — Always take advice or reproof as a favour : 
it is the surest mark of love. 

I advised you once, and you took it as an affront ; nevertheless 
I will do it once more. 

Scream no more, at the peril of your soul. God now warns 
you by me, whom He has set over you. 

Speak as earnestly as you can, but do not scream. Speak 
with all your heart, but with a moderate voice. It was said of 
oiu' Lord, ' He shall not cry ' ; the word properly means, He shall 
not scream. Herein, be a follower of me, as I am of Christ. I 
often speak loud, often vehemently, but I never scream, I never 
strain myself. I dare not. I know it would be a sin against 
God and my own soul. Perhaps one reason why that good man, 
Thomas Walsh, yea, and John Manners too, were in such grievous 
darkness before they died, was, because they shortened their own 
lives. 

O John, pray for an advisable and teachable temper ! By 
natiu'e you are very far from it : you are stubborn and headstrong. 
Your last letter was written in a very wrong spirit. If you cannot 
take advice from othei'S, surely you might take it from your affec- 
tionate brother, 

John Wesley. 



232 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CXLII. 

But Jolin Wesley was an autocrat. lie did not wish to 
secede from the Church of England, but to kindle a little ardour 
in the ranks of a slugo-ish ministry. To this end he drew his 
travelling preachers chiefly from the workshop and the plough, 
and satisfied himself of their fitness to be his lieutenants. These 
men he shifted about from city to city, and insisted on their im- 
plicit obedience to his wishes and injunctions. The following 
letter was written at a time when there were symptoms of 
insubordination in regard to Wesley's claims to have the sole 
and exclusive power of making appointments. A conference of 
preachers had appointed a man to a vacant pulpit and ' pious 
John ' immediately expelled him ; but Wesley seems to have 
forgotten that the theist flourishing condition of Methodism was 
not the consequence of his own. individual energy, and that his 
160 itinerant preachers counted for something in a vast success. 
Horace Walpole wrote as early as 1749 : ' Methodism in the 
metropolis is more fashionable than anything but brag ; the ^ 
women play very deep at both.' 

John Wesley to Charles Wesley. 

January, 1780. 

My dear Brother, — You seem not to have well considered the 
Kules of a Helper, or the rise of Methodism. It pleased God, 
by me, to awaken, first my brother, and then a few others ; who 
severally desired of me, as a favour, that I would direct them in all 
things. After my return from Georgia, many were both awakened 
and converted to God. One and another, and another of these 
desired to join with me as sons in the -gospel, to be directed by me. 
I drew up a few plain rules (observe there was no conference in 
being !) and permitted them to join me on these conditions. Who- 
ever, therefore, violates these conditions, particularly that of being 
directed by me in the work, does, ipso facto, disjoin himself from 
me. This brother M'Nab has done (but he cannot see that he 
has done amiss) : and he would have it a common cause ; that is, 
he would have all the preachers do the same. He thinks ' they 
have a right so to do.' So they have. They have a right to dis- 
j oin themselves from me whenever they please. But they cannot, 
in the nature of the thing, join with me any longer than they are 
directed by me. And what if fifty of the preachers disjoin them- 
selves I What should I lose thereby ? Only a great deal of labour 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 233 

and care, which I do not seek ; but endure, because no one else 
either can or will. 

You seem likewise to have quite a wrong idea of a conference. 
For above six years after my return to England, there was no 
such thing. I then desii-ed some of my preachers to meet me, in 
order to advise, not control, me. And you may observe, they had 
no power at all, but what I exercised through them. I chose to 
exercise the power which God had given me in this manner, both 
to avoid ostentation, and gently to habituate the people to obey 
them when I should be taken from their head. But as long as I 
remain with them, the fundamental rule of Methodism remains 
inviolate. As long as any preacher joins with me, he is to be 
directed by me in his work. Do not you see then, that brother 
M'Kab, whatever his intentions might be, acted as wrong as 
wrong could be ? and that the representing of this as the common 
cause of the preachers was the way to common destruction, the 
way to turn their heads, and to set them in arms ? Tt was a blow 
at the very root of Methodism. I could not, therefore, do less 
than I did ; it was the very least that could be done, for fear that 
evil should spread. I do not willingly speak of these things at all ; 
but I do it now out of necessity ; because I perceive the mind of 
you, and some others, is a little hurt by not seeing them in a 
true liofht. 

I am, your affectionate brother, 

John Wesley. 



'O' 



cxLiir. 

When Lord Lyttleton followed Henry Fielding's example by 
marrying a second time, this congratulatory note was written 
by the once needy novelist to his patron. Fielding was in- 
debted for his post of Justice of the Peace for Middlesex to Lord 
Lyttleton, and he was ever sensible of the benefaction. To the 
same hind patron he appealed successfully for his friend Edward 
Moore, known to us as the writer of the tragedy entitled ' The 
Gamester ; ' for when Dodsley appointed Moore editor of the 
* World,' Lyttleton l^eat up several fashionable contributors for 
him. With all his faults and eccentricities, Fielding was a 
generous and aUectionate friend, and was as careless of the 
malicious prattle of Horace Walpcle and the misrepresentations 
of his rival Richardson, as in early life he had been in choosing 
his company. 



2U ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 



Henry Fielding to the Hon. George Lyttleton. 

Bow Street : August 29, 1749. 
Sir, — Permit me to bring up the rear of your friends in paying 
my compliments of congi-atalation on your late happy nuptials. 
There may, perhaps, be seasons when the rear may be as honour- 
able a post in friendship as in war ; and if so, such certainly must 
be every time of joy and felicity. Your present situation must be 
full of bliss ; and so will be, I am confident, your future life from 
the same fountain. Nothing can equal the excellent character 
your lady bears amongst those of her own sex, and I never yet 
knew them speak well of a woman who did not deserve their 
good words. How admirable is your fortune in the matrimonial 
lottery ! I will venture to say there is no man alive who exults 
more in this, or in any other happiness that can attend you, than 
myself, and you ought to believe me from the same reason that 
fully persuades me of the satisfaction you receive from any hap- 
piness of mine; this reason is that you must be sensible how 
much of it I owe to your goodness ; and there is a great pleasure 
in gratitude, though I believe it second to that of benevolence, 
for of all the delights upon earth, none can equal the raptures 
which a good mind feels in conferring happiness on those whom 
we think worthy of it. This is the sweetest ingredient in power, 
and I solemnly protest I never wished for power more than a few 
days ago, for the sake of a man whom I love, the more, perhaps 
from the esteem I know he bears you than any other reason. This 
man is in love with a young creature of the most apparent worth 
who returns his afiections. Nothing is wanting to make two very 
miserable people extremely blest, but a moderate portion of the 
greatest of human evils, so philosophers call it, and so it is called by 
divines, whose word is the rather to be taken as they are many 
of them more conversant with this evil than even the philosophers 
were. The name of this man is Moore, to whom you kindly 
destined the laurel, which, though it hath long been withered, may 
not probably soon drop from the brow of its present possessor. 
But there is another place of much the same value now vacant : it 
is that of deputy-licenser to the stage. Be not ofiended at this 
hint I for though I will own it impudent enough in one who hath 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 235 

so many obligations of his own to you to venture to recommend 
another man to your favour, yet impudence itself may possibly be 
a virtue when exerted on behalf of a friend : at least I am the 
less ashamed of it, as I have known men remarkable for the oppo- 
site modesty, possess it without the mixture of any other quality. 
In this fault then you must indulge me — for should I ever see you 
as high in power as I wish, and as it is perhaps more my interest 
than your own that you should be, I shall be guilty of the like as 
often as I find a man in whom I can, after much intimacy, -dis- 
cover no want but that of the evil above mentioned. I beg you 
will do me the honour of making my compliments to your unknown 
lady, and believe me to be, with the highest esteem, respect, and 
gratitude, 

Sir, your most obliged 

Most obedient, humble servant, 

Henry Fielding. 



CXLIV. 

After a year's absence, William Pitt, gouty and infirm, 
retm'ned to his seat in the House of Commons to shine in the 
most memorable debate of the eighteenth century — on the 
American Stamp Act. When the result of the division was made 
known, the great Commoner was overwhelmed with applause, 
and Lord Stanhope writes : ^ Every head was uncovered ; 
and many persons in token of their respect and gratitude fol- 
lowed his chair home. On the other hand, hisses and revilings 
assailed, but did not daunt, the haughty and resolute Gren- 
ville.' 

William Fitt to Ms Wife, Lady Chatham. 

February 22, 1766 (past 4 o'clock). 

Happy, indeed, was the scene of this glorious morning (for at 
past one we divided), when the sun of liberty shone once more 
benignly upon a coimtry, too long benighted. My dear love, not 
all the applauding joy which the hearts of animated gratitude, 
saved from despair and bankruptcy, uttered in the lobby, could 
touch me, in any degi^ee, like the tender and lively delight, which 
breathes in your warm and affectionate note. 

All together, my dearest life, makes me not ill to-day after the 
immense fatigue, or not feeling that I am so. Wonder not if I 
should find myself in a placid and sober fever, for tumultuous 



236 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

exultation you know I think not permitted to feeble mortal 
successes ; but my delight, heartfelt and solid as it is, must want 
its sweetest ingredient (if not its very essence) till I rejoice with 
my angel, and with her join in thanksgivings to protecting Heaven, 
for all our happy deliverances. 

Thank you for the sight of Smith : his honest joy and affection 
charm me. Loves to the sweet babes, patriotic or not ; though I 
hope impetuous William is not behind in feelings of that kind. 
Send the saddle-horses if you please, so as to be in town early to- 
morrow morning. I propose, and hope, to execute my joiu'ney to 
Hayes by eleven. 

Your ever loving husband. 

^Y. Pitt. 



CXLV. 

*They form a grand group in my biographical picture,' 
remarks James Boswell of the three letters forwarded to him by 
Warren Hastings in the month of December, 1790 — ^the only 
letters he bad received from Dr. Samuel Johnson. The one 
here selected is the best of the trio ; and in grace and finish it 
is scarcely inferior to any other of the epistles to te read in Bos- 
well's volumes on the ' Life of Dr. Johnson.' 

Dr. Samuel Johnson to the Hon. Warren Hastings. 

March 30, 1774. 
Sir, — Though I have had but little personal knowledge of you, I 
have had enough to make me wish for more ; and though it be now a 
longtime since I was honoured by your visit, I had too much pleasure 
from it to forget it. By those whom we delight to remember, we 
are unwilling to be forgotten ; and therefore I cannot omit this 
opportunity of reviving myself in your memory by a letter which 
you will receive from the hands of my friend Mr. Chambers ; a 
man, whose purity of manners and vigour of mind are sufficient 
to make everything welcome that he brings. That this is^ my only 
reason for writing, will be too apparent by the uselessness of my 
letter to any other purpose. I have no questions to ask ; not that 
I want curiosity after either the ancient or present state of regions, 
in which have been seen all the power and splendour of wide- 
extended empire ; and which, as by some grant of natural superiority, 
supply the rest of the world with almost all that pride desires, and 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 237 

luxuiy enjoys. But my knowledge of them is too scanty to furnish 
me with proper topicks of enquiry. I can only wish for informa- 
tion ; and hope, that a mind comprehensive like yours will find 
leisure, amidst the cares of your important station, to enquii'e into 
many subjects of which the European world either thinks not at 
all, or thinks with deficient intelligence and uncertain conjecture. 
I shall hope, that he who once intended to increase the learninoj 
of his country by the introduction of the Persian language, will 
examine nicely the traditions and histories of the East ; that he 
will survey the wonders of its ancient edifices, and trace the 
vestiges of its ruined cities and that, at his return, we shall know 
the arts and opinions of a race of men, from whom very little has 
been hitherto derived. 

You, Sir, have no need of being told by me, how much may be 
added by your attention and patronage to experimental knowledge 
and natural history. There are arts of manufacture practised in 
the countries in which you preside, which are yet very imperfectly 
known here, either to artificers or philosophers. Of the natural 
productions, animate and inanimate, we yet have so little intelli- 
gence, that our books are filled, I fear, with conjectures about 
things which an Indian peasant knows by his senses. 

Many of those things my first wish is to see ; my second to 
know by such accounts as a man like you will be able to give. 

As I have not skill to ask proper questions, I have likewise no 
such access to great men as can enable me to send you any political 
information. Of the agitations of an unsettled government, and 
the struggles of a feeble ministry, care is doubtless taken to give 
you more exact accounts than I can obtain. If you are inclined to 
interest yourself much in public transactions, it is no misfortune 
to you to be so distant from them. That literature is not totally 
forsaking us, and that your favourite language is not neglected, 
will appear from the book, which I should have pleased myself 
more with sending, if I could have presented it bound ; but time 
was wanting. I beg, however, Sir, that you will accept it from a 
man very desirous of your regard ; and that if you think me able 
to gratify you by anything more important, you will employ me. 

I am now going to take leave, perhaps a very long leave, of my 
dear Mr. Chambers. That he is going to live where you govern, 
may justly alleviate the regret of parting ; and the hope of seeing 



238 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

both him and you again, which I am not willing to mingle with 
doubt, must at present, comfort as it can, Sir, 

Your most humble servant 
Sam Johnson. 

CXLVI. 

The proudest man of his generation, the Earl of Chester- 
field, met with a most crushing rebuff at the hands of Dr. 
Johnson. The great Lexicographer was not a proud man ; but 
what he defined as his defensive pride was capable of producing 
the most galling results. 

Dr. Samuel Johnson to the Earl of Chesterfield 

February, 1775. 

My Lord, — I have been lately informed by the proprietor of 
the World, that two papers, in which my Dictionary is recommended 
to the publick, were written by your Lordship. To be so distin- 
guished, is an honour, which, being very little accustomed to 
favours from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what 
terms to acknowledge. 

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your 
Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the 
enchantment of your address ; and could not forbear to wish that 
I might boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre, — that 
I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contending ; 
but I found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither pride 
nor modesty would suflfer me to continue it. When I had once 
addressed your Lordship in publick, I had exhausted all the art of 
pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. I had 
done all that I could ; and no man is well pleased to have his all 
neglected, be it ever so little. 

Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in your 
outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during which 
time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which 
it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last, to the verge 
of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encourage- 
ment, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, 
for I never had a Patron before. The shepherd in Virgil grew at 
last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the rocks. 

Is not a Patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on a 



1800] ENGLISH LEITERS. 239 

man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached 
ground, encumbers him with help % The notice which you have 
been pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had been kind ', 
but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it ; 
till I am solitary, and cannot impart it ; till I am known, and do 
not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity not to confess 
obligations where no benefit has been received, or to be unwilling 
that the publick should consider me as owing that to a Patron, 
which Providence has enabled me to do for myself. 

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation 
to any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I 
should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have been 
long wakened from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted 
myself with so much exultation. 

My Lord 
Your Lordship's most humble 

most obedient servant 
Sam Johnson. 

CXLVII. 

In this instance, however, we find Dr. Johnson gPcacefully 
apologising for unwittingly wounding the pride of the house of 
Rasay. 

Dr. Samuel Johnson to the Laird of Rasay. 

London : May 6, 1775. 

Dear Sir, — Mr. Boswell has this day shewn me a letter, in 
which you complain of a passage in * the Journey to the Hebrides.' 
My meaning is mistaken. I did not intend to say that you had 
personally made any cession of the rights of your house, or any 
acknowledgement of the superiority of M'Leod of Dunvegan. I 
only designed to express what I thought generally admitted, — that 
the house of Rasay allowed the superiority of the house of Dun- 
vegan. Even this I now find to be erroneous, and will therefore 
omit or retract it in the next edition. 

Though what I had said had been true, if it had been dis- 
agxeeable to you, I should have wished it unsaid ; for it is not my 
business to adjust precedence. As it is mistaken, I find myself 
disposed to correct it, both by my respect for you, and my reverence 
for truth. As I know not when the book will he reprinted, 1 have 



240 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

desired Mr. Boswell to anticipate the correction in tlie Edinburgh 
papers. 

This is all that can be done. 

I hope I may now venture to desire that my compliments may 
be made, and my gratitude expressed, to Lady Rasay, Mr. Malcolm 
M'Leod, Mr. Donald M'Queen, and all the gentlemen and all the 
ladies whom I saw in the Island of Kasay; a place which I re- 
member with too much pleasure and too much kindness, not to be 
sorry that my ignorance, or hasty persuasion, should, for a single 
moment, have violated its tranquillity. 

I beg you all to forgive an undesigned and involuntary injury, 
and to consider me as, 

Sir, your most obliged, 

and most humble servant 

Sam Johnson. 

• OXLVIII. 

This question of precedence, so common North of the Tweed, 
reminds one of Sir Walter Scott's favourite letter in which 
Lord Macdonald makes reply to the head of the Glengarry 
family. 

My dear Gleng-arry, 

As soon as you can prove yourself to he my chief I. 
shall he ready to acknowledge you; in the 
meantime, I am yours, 

Macdonald. 

The three following letters tell of the final rupture of the 
friendship, extending over twenty years, of Dr. Johnson and Mrs. 
Thrale. On June 30, 1784, Dr. Johnson, in common with the 
other executors under Mr. Thrale's will, received an intimation 
that Mrs. Thrale was actually married, or about to he married, 
to Mr. Piozzi, an Italian music-master. 

Dr, Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Piozzi. 

July 2, 1784. 
Madam, — If I intepret your letter right, you are ignominiously 
married : if it is yet undone, let us once more talk together. If 
you have abandoned your children and your religion, God forgive 
your wickedness ; if you have forfeited your fame and your 
country, may your folly do no further mischief. If the last act 
is yet to do, I who have loved you, esteemed you, reverenced 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 241 

you, and served you, I who long thought you the first of woman- 
kind, entreat that, before your fate is irrevocable, I may once more 
see you. I was, I once was. Madam, most truly yours, 

Sam Johnson. 
I will come down, if you permit it. 



CXLTX. 

Dr, Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Fiozzi, 

London : July 8, 1784. 

Dear Madam, — What you have done, however I may lament 
it, I have no pretence to resent, as it has not been injurious to me. 
I therefore breathe out one sigh more of tenderness, perhaps useless, 
but at least sincere. 

I wish that God may grant you every blessing, that you may 
be happy in this world for its short continuance, and eternally 
happy in a better state ; and whatever I can contribute to your 
happiness I am very ready to repay, for that kindness which 
soothed twenty years of a life radically wretched. 

Do not think slightly of the advice which I now presume to 
offer. Prevail upon Mr. Piozzi to settle in England : you may live 
here with more dignity than in Italy, and with more security ; 
your rank will be higher, and your fortune more under your own 
eye. I desire not to detail all my reasons, but every argument of 
prudence and interest is for England, and only some phantoms of 
imagination seduce you to Italy. I am afraid, however, that my 
counsel is vain, yet I have eased my heart by giving it. 

When Queen Mary took the resolution of sheltering herself 
in England, the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, attempting to dissuade 
her, attended on her journey ; and when they came to the irre- 
meable stream that separated the two Kingdoms, walked by her 
side into the water, in the middle of which he seized her bridle, 
and with earnestness proportioned to her danger and his own 
affection pressed her to return. The Queen went forward. — If the 
parallel reaches thus far, may it go no farther. — The tears stand 
in my eyes. 

I am going into Derbyshire, and hope to be followed by your 
good wishes, for I am, with great affection, 

Yours, &c. 



242 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



CL. 

Mrs. Piozzi to Br. Samuel Johnson. 

July 4, 1784. 

Sir, — I have this morning received from you so rough a letter 
in reply to one which was both tenderly and respectfully written, 
that I am forced to desire the conclusion of a correspondence which 
I can hear to continue no longer. 

The birth of my second husband is not meaner than that of my 
first ; his sentiments are not meaner ; his profession is not meaner, 
and his superiority in what he professes acknowledged by all 
mankind. It is want of fortune, then, that is ignominious ; the 
character of the man I have chosen has no other claim to such an 
epithet. The religion to which he has been always a zealous 
adherent will, I hope, teach him to forgive insults he has not 
deserved ; mine will, I hope, enable me to bear them at once with 
dignity and patience. To hear that I have forfeited my fame is 
indeed the greatest insult I ever yet received. 

My fame is as unsullied as snow, or I should think it unworthy 
of him who must henceforth protect it. 

I write by the coach the more speedily and effectually to prevent 
your coming hither. Perhaps by my fame (and I hope it is so) 
you mean only that celebrity which is a consideration of a much 
lower kind. I care for that only as it may give pleasure to my 
husband and his friends. 

Farewell, dear Sir, and accept my best wishes. ' You have 
always commanded my esteem, and long enjoyed the fruits of a 
friendship, never infringed hy one harsh expression on my part 
during twenty years of familiar talk. Never did I oppose your 
will, nor can your unmerited severity itself lessen my regard ; 
but till you have changed your opinion of Mr. Piozzi, let us 
converse no more. God bless you. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 213 



OLI. 

Tlie controversy raised "by James Macpherson's publication 
of some poems which he attributed to Ossian, a Highland poet 
who flourished in the third century, was a long- and bitter one. 
It lasted during the latter hall' of Macpherson's life and con- 
tinued for several years after his death. It was alleged that 
fragments, of ancient poetry, sung in Gaelic by the natives 
of the North of Scotland, and transmitted orally from singer 
to singer, and from age to age, had been discovered in manu- 
script at the homes of the Highland peasantry ; and a sub- 
scription was raised in Edinburgh to enable Macpherson to ex- 
tend his researches, and produced the two epic poems ' Fingal ' 
and ' Temora.' Among the earliest admirers of Macpherson 
were Dr. Blair, and our poets Shenstone and Gray ; but Dr. 
Johnson at once denied the authenticity of the poems. Subse- 
quently a committee of the Highland Society of Edinburgh 
reported that they had failed to discover any one poem the same 
in title and tenor with the ' poems of Ossian.* 

David Hume to . 



Edinburgh : August 16, 17G0. 
Sir, — I am surprised to find by your letter, that Mr. Gray 
should have entertained suspicions with regard to the authenticity 
of these fragments of our Highland poetry. The first time I was 
shown the copies of some of them in manuscript, by our friend 
John Home, I was inclined to be a little incredulous on that head ; 
but Mr. Home removed my scruples, by informing me of the man- 
ner in which he procured them from Mr. Macpherson, the trans- 
lator. These two gentlemen were drinking the waters together at 
Mofiat last autumn, when their conversation fell upon Highland 
poetr}^, which Mr. Macpherson extolled very highly. Om* friend, 
who knew him to be a good scholar, and a man of taste, found his 
curiosity excited, and asked whether he had ever translated any of 
them. Mr. Macpherson replied, that he never had attempted any 
such thing, and doubted whether it was possible to transfuse such 
beauties into our language ; but, for Mr. Home's satisfaction, and 
in order to give him a general notion of the strain of that wild 
poetry, he would endeavour to turn one of them into English. He 
accordingly brought him one next day, which our friend was so 
much pleased with, that he never ceased soliciting Mr. Macpherson, 



244 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

till he insensibly produced that smaL volume which has been pub- 
lished. 

After this volume was in everybody's hands, and universally 
admired, we heard every day new reasons, which put the authen- 
ticity, not the great antiquity which the translator ascribes to 
them, beyond all question, for their antiquity is a point, which 
must be ascertained by reasoning ; though the arguments he em- 
ploys seem very probable and convincing. But certain it is, that 
these poems are in everybody's mouth in the Highlands, have been 
handed down from father to son, and are of an age beyond all 
memory and tradition. 

In the family of every Highland chieftain, there was anciently 
retained a bard, whose office was the same with that of the Greek 
rhapsodists ; and the general subject of the poems which they re- 
cited was the wars of Fingal ; an epoch no less remarkable among 
them, than the wars of Troy among the Greek poets. This custom 
is not even yet altogether abolished : the bard and piper are esteemed 
the most honourable offices in a chieftain's family, and these two 
characters are frequently united in the same person. Adam 
Smith, the celebrated Professor in Glasgow/ told me that "the piper 
of the Argyleshire Militia repeated to him all those poems which 
Mr. Macpherson has translated, and many more of equal beauty. 
Major Mackay, Lord Keay's brother, also told me that he remembers 
them perfectly; as likewise did the Laird of Macfarlane, the greatest 
antiquarian whom we have in this country, and who insists so 
strongly on the historical truth, as well as on the poetical beauty 
of these productions. I could add the Laird and Lady Macleod 
to these authorities, with many more, if these were not sufficient, 
as they live in different parts of the Highlands, very remote from 
each other, and they could only be acquainted with poems that 
had become in a manner national works, and had gradually spread 
themselves into every mouth, and imprinted themselves on every 
memory. Every body in Edinburgh is so convinced of this truth, 
that we have endeavoured to put Mr. Macpherson on a way of 
procuring us more of these wild flowers. He is a modest, sensible, 
young man, not settled in any living, but employed as a private tutor 
in Mr. Grahame of Belgowan's family, a way of life which he is not 
fond of. We have, therefore, set about a subscription of a guinea 
or two guineas a-piece, in order to enable him to quit that family, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 215 

and undertake a mission into the Highlands, where he hopes to 
recover more of these fragments. 

There is, in particular, a country surgeon somewhere in Loch- 
abar, who, he says, can recite a great number of them, but never 
committed them to writing ; as indeed the oj-thogi-aphy of the 
Highland language is not fixed, and the natives have always em- 
ployed more the s\yord than the pen. This surgeon has by heart 
the Epic poem mentioned by Mr. Macpherson in his Preface ; and 
as he is somewhat old, and is the only person living that has it 
entire, we are in the more haste to recover a monument, which 
will certainly be regarded as a curiosity in the republic of letters. 

I own that my fii^st and chief objection to the authenticity of 
these fragments was not on accomit of the noble and even tender 
strokes which they contain ; for these are the offspring of genius 
and passion in all countries ; I was only surprised at the regular 
plan which appears in some of these pieces, and which seems to be 
the work of a more cultivated age. None of the specimens of bar- 
barous poetry known to us, the Hebrew, Arabian, or any other, 
contain this species of beauty ; and if a regular epic poem, or even 
any thing of that kind, nearly regular, should also come from that 
rough climate or uncivilized people, it would appear to me a phe- 
nomenon altogether unaccountable. 

I remember Mr. Macpherson told me, that the heroes of this 
Highland epic were not only, like Homer's heroes, their own 
butchers, bakers, and cooks, but also their own shoemakers, car- 
penters, and smiths. He mentioned an incident which put this 
matter in a remarkable light. A warrior had the head of his 
spear struck off in battle; upon which he immediately retires be- 
hind the army, where a large forge was erected, makes a new one, 
hurries back to the action, pierces his enemy while the iron, 
which was yet red-hot, hisses in the wound. This imagery you will 
allow to be singular, and so Avell imagined that it would have 
been adopted by Homer, had the manners of the Greeks allowen 
him to have employed it. 

I forgot to mention, as another proof of the authenticity of 
these poems, and even of the reality of the adventures contained in 
them, that the names of the heroes, Fingal, Oscar, Osur, Oscan, 
Dermid, are still given in the Highlands to large mastiffs, in the 
tame manner as we affix to them the names of Ciesar, Pompcy, 
12 



24G ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Hector, or tlie French that of Marlborough. It gives me pleasure 
to find that a person of so fine a taste as Mr. Gray approves 
of these fragments; as- it may convince us that our fondness 
of them is not altogether founded on national prepossessions, which, 
however, you know to be a little strong. The translation is ele- 
gant, but I made an objection to the author, which I wish you 
would communicate to Mr. Gray, that we may judge of the jiii>t- 
ness of it. There appeared to me many verses in his prose, and 
all of them in the same measure with Mr. Shenstone's famous 
ballad, — 

Ye shepherds, so cheerful and gay, 
Whose flocks never carelessly roam, &c. 

Pray, ask Mr. Gray whether he made the same lemark, &c., and 
whether he thinks it a blemish. 

Yours most sincerely, i^c. 



CLII. 

The feud "between Jean Jacques Rousseau and David Hume, 

the historian, is a curious passage of literary history. 

During his stay in this country liousseau found a delightfid 
home at Wotton, the residence of a Mr. Davenport. David 
Hume had procured this home for the 'apostle of affliction/ and 
was acknowledged to he his ' cher patron ; ' more than this, he 
had been instrumental in obtaining from George IH. a pension 
for his friend. Out of some correspondence connected with this 
grant of money, but chiefly owing to a letter reflecting on 
Rousseau's moral ailments, written by Horace Walpole under the 
signature of the King of Prussia, arose a dispute which severed 
this fretful foreigner's connection with Hume and with England. 
"Without a shadow of CTidence Rousseau charged his benefactor 
with enticing him to England for the sole purpose of reducing 
him to derision and captivity, and insisted that the most consider- 
able personages in the realm were privy to the plot. Mr. Hume, 
it will be seen, did not choose to treat his ungrateful assailant 
as an unfortunate monomaniac, but as an intensely vain and 
quarrelsome person. 

David Hume to Jean Jacques Rousseau. 

June 26, 1766. 
As I am conscious of having ever acted towards you the most 
friendly part, of having always given you the most tender and the 
most active proofs of sincere afiection, you may judge of my extreme 



ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 2i7 

surprise on perusing your epistle. Such violent accusations, con-, 
fined altogether to generalities, it is as impossible to answer as it 
is impossible to comprehend them. But affairs cannot, must not, 
remain on that footing. I shall charitably suppose that some 
infamous calumniator has belied me to you. But, in that case, it 
is your duty, and, I am persuaded, it will be your inclination, to 
give me an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself, 
which can only be done by your mentionmg the particulars of 
which I am accused. You say that I myself know that I have 
been false to you ; but I say it loudly, and will say it to the whole 
world, that I know the contrary ; that I know my friendship to- 
wards you has been unbounded and uninterrupted; and that 
though I have given you instances of it, which have been uni- 
versally remarked both in France and England, the public as yet 
are acquainted only with the smallest part of it. I demand that 
you name to me the man who dares assert the contrary ; and, 
above all, I demand that he shall mention any one particular in 
which I have been wanting to you. You owe this to me, you ov/e 
it to yourself, you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and to 
every thing deemed sacred among men. As an innocent man — • 
for I will not say as your friend, I will not say as your benefactor — 
but I repeat it, as an innocent man I claim the privilege of prov- 
ing my innocence and of refuting any scandalous falsehood which 
may have been invented against me. Mr. Davenport, to whom I 
have sent a copy of your letter, and who will read this before he 
delivers it, will, I am confident, second my demand and tell you 
that nothing can be more equitable. Happily I have preserved 
the letter you wrote me after your arrival at Wotton ; and you 
there express, in the strongest terms, in terms indeed too strong, 
your satisftiction in my poor endeavours to serve you. The little 
epistolary intercourse which afterwards passed between us has 
been all employed on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell 
me, then, what has since given you ofience % Tell me of what 
am accused. Tell me the man who accuses me. Even after you 
have fulfilled all these conditions to my satisfaction, and to that 
of Mr. Davenport, you will still have great difficulty to justify 
your employing such outrageous terms towards a man with whom 
you have been so intimately connected, and who was entitled, on 
many accounts, to have been treated by you with more regard and 



248 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

decency. Mr. Davenport knows the whole transaction about your 
pension, because I thought it necessary thab the person who had 
undertaken your settlement should be fully acquainted with your 
circumstances, lest he should be tempted to perform towards you 
concealed acts of generosity, which, if they accidentally came to 
your knowledge, might give you some grounds of oflfence. 

I am," Sir, &c. 

CLIII. 

David Hume to Dr. Blair. 

July 15, 1760. 

Dear Doctor, — I go in a few hours to Woburn ', so can only 
give you the outline of my history. Through many difficulties I 
obtained a pension for Rousseau. The application was made with 
his own consent and knowledge. I write him that all is happily 
completed, and he need only draw for the money. He answers 
me that I am a rogue and a rascal ; and have brought him into 
England merely to dishonour him. I demand the reason of this 
strange language, and Mr. Davenport, the gentleman with whom 
he lives, tells him that he must necessarily satisfy me. To-day 1 
received a letter from him, which is perfect frenzy. It would 
make a good eighteen-penny pamphlet; and I fancy he intends to 
publish it. He there tells me, that D'Alembert, Horace Walpole, 
and I, had from the first entered into a combination to ruin him, 
and had ruined him. That the first suspicion of my treachery 
arose in him while we lay together in the same room of an inn in 
France. I there spoke in my sleep, and betrayed my intention of 
ruining him. That young Tronchin lodged in the same house 
with me at London ; and Annie Elliot looked very coldly at him 
as he went by her in the passage. That I am also in a close con- 
federacy with Lord Lyttelton, who, he hears, is his mortal enemy. 
That the English nation were very fond of him on his first arrival ; 
but that Horace Walpole and I had totally alienated them from 
him. He owns, however, that his belief of my treachery went no 
higher than suspicion while he was in London ; but it rose to cer- 
tainty after he arrived in the country ; for that there were several 
publications in the papers against him, which could have proceeded 
fi'om nobody but me or my confederate, Horace Walpole. The 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 249 

rest is all of a like strain, intermixed with many lies and much 
malice. I own that I was very anxious about this affair, but this 
letter has totally relieved me. I write in a hurry, merely to 
satisfy your curiosity. I hope soon to see you, and am, &c. 



OLIV. 

Ignatius Sancho was an emancipated negro, who, having been 
struck with a passage in one of Sterne's sermons, describing the 
misery and injustice of slavery, addressed a letter to him. The 
author of ' Tristram Shandy,' touched with the poor Black's 
enthusiastic compliments and simple eloquence, replied : — 

Lawrence Sterne to Ignatius Sanclio. 

Ooxwold: July 27, ] 700. 

There is a strange coincidence, Sancho, in the little events (as 
well as in the gveat ones) of this world ; for I had been writing a 
tender tale of the sori-ows of a friendless poor negro-girl; and my 
eyes had scarce done smarting with it, when your letter of recom- 
mendation, in behalf of so many of her brethren and sisters, came 
to me ; — but why her brethren 1 — or yours, Sancho, — any more 
than mine ? 

It is by the finest tints and most insensible gradations that 
Nature descends from the fairest face about St. James's to the 
sootiest complexion in Africa. — At which tint of these is it, that 
the ties of blood are to cease 1 and how many shades must we 
descend lower still in the scale, ere mercy is to vanish with them ? 
But 'tis no uncommon thing, my good Sancho, for one half of the 
world to use the other half of it like brutes, and then endea- 
vour to make them so. For my own part, I never look westward 
(when I am in a pensive mood at least) but I think of the burdens 
which our brothers and sisters are there carrying; and, could I 
ease their shoulders from one ounce of them, I declare I would set 
out this hour upon a pilgrimage to Mecca for their sakes ; which, 
by the by, Sancho, exceeds your walk of ten miles in about the 
same proportion that a visit of humanity should one of mere form. 
• — However, if you meant my Uncle Toby, more he is your debtor. 
If I can weave the tale I have wrote into the work I am about, 
'tis at the service of the afflicted — and a much greater matter ; for, 
in serious truth, it casts a sad shade upon the world, that so great 



250 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

a part of it are, and have been so long, bound in chains of dark- 
ness, and in chains of misery, and I cannot but both respect and felici- 
tate you, that, by so much laudable diligence, you have broke the 
one ; — and that, by falling into the hands of so good and merciful 
a family, Providence has rescued you from the other. 

And so, good-hearted Sancho, adieu ! and, believe me, I will 
not forget your letter. 

Yours, 

L. Sterne. 

CLV. 

Lawrence Sterne was in London, carrying his ^ Sentimental 
Journey ' through the press, about the time this letter was 
written. He was dying slowly of consumption, lonely and 
wretched amid all his social triumphs. His wife and his 
daughter Lydia, to whom he was much attached, were away 
from him, alienated, it is to be feared, by his misconduct. The 
* incomparable woman ' he alludes to was Mrs. Eliza Draper, 
who plays such an important part in his correspondence. 

Lawrence Sterne to Miss Sterne. 

Bond Street : April 9, 1767. 
This letter, my dear Lydia, will distress thy good heart ; for, 
from the beginning, thou wilt perceive no entertaining strokes of 
humour in it. I cannot be cheerful when a thousand melancholy 
ideas surround me. I have met with a loss of near fifty pounds, 
which I was taken in for in an extraordinary manner — but what 
is that loss in comparison of one I may experience 1 Friendship 
is the balm and cordial of life, and without it 'tis a heavy load 
not worth sustaining. I am unhappy — thy mother and thyself at 
a distance from me ; and what can compensate for such a destitu- 
tion 1 For God's sake, persuade her to come and fix in England, 
for life is too short to waste in separation ; and, whilst she lives 
in one country and I in another, many people will suppose it pro- 
ceeds from choice ; besides, I want thee near me, thou child and 
darling of my heart ! I am in a melancholy mood, and my Lydia's 
eyes will smart with weeping, when I tell her the cause that now 
afiects me. I am apprehensive the dear friend I mentioned in my 
last letter is going into a decline. I was with her two days ago, 
and I never beheld a being so altered ; she has a tender frame, and 
looks like a drooping lily, for the roses are fled from her cheeks. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 251 

can never see or talk to this incomparable woman without burst- 
ing into tears. I have a thousand obligations to her, and I owe 
her more than her whole sex, if not all the world put together. 
She has a delicacy in her way of thinking that few possess. Our 
convei^ations are of the most interesting nature ; and she talks to 
me of quitting this world with more composure than others think 
of living in it. I have wrote an epitaph, of which I send thee a 
copy ; — 'tis expressive of her modest worth ; — but may Heaven 
restore her; — and may she live to write mine ! 

Columns and labour'd urns but vainly show 
An idle scene of decorative woe ; 
The sweet companion, and the friend sincere, 
Need no mechanic help to force the tear. 
In heartfelt numbers, never meant to shine, 
'Twill flow eternal o'er a hearse like thine ; 
'Twill flow whilst gentle goodness has one friend, 
Or kindred tempers have a tear to lend. 

Say all that is kind of me to thy mother, and beUeve me, my 
Lydia, that I love thee most truly. 

So adieu. I am what I ever was, and hope ever shall be. 

Thy aflfectionate Father, 

L. Sterne. 

As to Mr. M , by your description he is a fat fool. I beg 

you will not give up jovlv time to such a being. Send me some 
batons pours les dents ; there are. none good here. 



CLVI. 

AVilliam Shenstone, one of the most pleasing of our minor 
poets and the author of the once famous ' Pastoral Ballad,' here 
inculcates with much elegance and good sense the value of 
social intercourse as a necessary ingredient to man's happiness. 
A bachelor and a recluse himself he scarcely practised what he 
preached, though his inconsistency in this case so far from 
diminishing adds rather to his authority on the subject with 
which he deals. 

William Shenstone to Mr. Graves. 

[1745.] 

Dear Mr. Graves, — There is not a syllable you tell me con- 
oerniug yourself in your last letter, but what applied to me is most 



252 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700 

literally true. I am sensible of tlie daily progress I make towards 
insignificancy, and it will not be many years before you see me 
arrived at the ne plus ultra. I believe it is absolutely impossible 
for me to acquire a considerable degree of knowledge, though I can 
understand things well enough at the time I read them. I remem- 
ber a preacher at St. Mary's (I think it was Mr. E ) made a 

notable distinction betwixt apprehension and comprehension. If 
there be a real difierence, probably it may find a place in the expli- 
cation of my genius. I envy you a good general insight into the 
writings of the learned. I must aim at nothing higher than a 
well-concealed ignorance. — I was thinking, upon reading your 
letter, where it was that you and Mr. Whistler and I went out of 
the road of happiness. It certainly was where we first deviated 
from the turnpike-road of life. Wives, children, alliances, visits, 
&c. are necessary objects of our social passions ; a.nd whether or no 
we can, through particular circumstances, be happy ivith, I think 
it plain enough that it is not possible to be happy without them. 
All attachments to inanimate beauties, to curiosities, and orna- 
ments, satiate us presently. — The fanciful tribe has the disadvan- 
tage to be naturally prone to err in the choice of lasting pleasures : 
and when our passions have habitually wandered, it is too difficult 
to reduce them into their proper channels. When this is the case, 
nothing but the change or variety of amusements stands any 
chance to make us easy, and it is not long ere the whole species is 
exhausted. I agree with you entirely in the necessity of a sociable 
life in order to be happy : I do not think it much a paradox, that 
any company is better than none. I think it obvious enough as to 
the present hour; and as to any future influence, solitude has 
exceeding savage effects on our dispositions. — I have wrote out my 
elegy : I lay no manner of stress but upon the piety of it. — 
Would it not be a good kind of motto, applied to a person you 
know, that might be taken from what is said of Ophelia in 
Hamlet, 

I tell thee, faithless priest, 

A ministering angel shall Ophelia be 

When thou art howling.^ 

I have amused myself often with this species of writing since you 

' The writer is obviously quoting from memory, and not altogether 
correctly. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 2u3 

saw me ; partly to divert my present impatience, and partly as it 
will be a picture of most that passes in my mind ; a portrait 
which friends may value. — I should be glad of your profile : if 
you have objections, I drop my request. — I should be heartily glad 
if you would come and live with me, for any space of time that 
you could find convenient. But I will depend on your coming 
over with Mr. Whistler in the spring. I may possibly take a 
jaunt towards you ere long : the road would furnish me out some 
visits ; and, by the time I reached you, perhaps, afford me a kind 
of climax of happiness. If I do not, I shall perhaps be a little 
time at Bath. I do not speak of this last as a scheme from which 
I entertain great expectations of pleasure. It is long since I have 
considered myself as undone. The world will not perhaps consider 
me in that light entirely, till I have married my maid. Adieu ! 



CLYir. 

rjchard Jago was in Lis day (1715-1781) a poet of some 
repute, though his principal claim to notice now is Lis intimacy 
witL SLenstone. TLe tenderness and grace wLicL cLaracteriso 
many of SLenstone's poems seem to be reflected in tLe prose of 
the present letter, wLich is evidently tLe work of an amiable 
and sincere man. 

William Shensfone to liichai'd Jago. 

November 15, 1752. 
Dear Mr. Jago, — Could I with convenience mount my horse, 
and ride to Harbury this instant, I should much more willingly do 
so than begin this letter. Such terrible events have happened to 
us, since we saw each other last, that, however irksome it may be 
to dwell upon them, it is in the same degree unnatural to substi- 
tute any subject in their place. I do sincerely forgive your long 
silence, my good friend, indeed I do ; though it gave me uneasi- 
ness. I hope you do the same by mine. I own, I could not 
readily account for the former period of yours, any otherwise than 
by supposing that I had said, or done something, in the levity of 
my heart, which had given you disgust ; but being conscious to 
myself of the most sincere regard for you, and believing it could 
never be discredited for any trivial inadvertences, I remember, I 
continued still in expectation of a letter, and did not dream of 
writing till such time as I had received one. I trusted you would 
12* 



254 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

write at last ; and that, by all my past endeavours to demonstrate 
my friendship, you would believe the tree was rooted in my heart 
whatever irregularity you might observe in the branches. 

This was my situation before that dreadful sera which gave me 
such a shock as to banish my best friends for a time out of my 
memory. And when they recurred, as they did the first of any- 
thing, I was made acquainted with that deplorable misfortune 
of yours ! believe me, I sympathized in your affliction, notwith- 
standing my own ; but alas ! what comfort could I administer, 
who had need of every possible assistance to support myself? I 
wrote indeed a few letters with difficulty ; amongst the rest, one 
to my friend Graves ; but it was to vent my complaint. I will 
send you the letter, if you please, as it is by far my least painful 
method of conveying you some account of my situation. JiOt it 
convince you, that I could have written nothing at that time, 
which could have been of any service to you : let it afford you, at 
least, a faint sketch of my dearest brother's character ; but let it 
not appear an ostentatious display of sorrow, of which I am by no 
means guilty. I know but too well that I discovered upon the 
occasion, what some would call, an unmanly tenderness ; but I 
know also, that sorrow upon such subjects as these is very con- 
sistent with virtue, and with the most absolute resignation to the 
just decrees of providence — ' Hominis est enim affici dolore 
sentire ; resist ere tamen & solatia admittere non solatiis non 
egere.' — Pliny. I drank, purchased amusements, never suffered 
myself to be a minute without company, no matter what, so it 
was but continual. At length, by an attention to such conversa- 
tion and such amusements as I could at other times despise, I 
forgot so far as to be cheerful. — And after this, the summer, 
through an almost constant succession of lively and agreeable 
visitants, proved even a scene of jollity. — It was inebriation all, 
though of a mingled nature ; yet has it maintained a sort of truce 
with grief, till time can assist me more effectually by throwing 
back the event to a distance. — Now, indeed that my company has 
all forsaken me, and I am delivered up to winter, silence, and re- 
llection, the incidents of the last year revive apace in my memory ; 
and I am even astonished to think of the gaiety of my summer. 
The fatal anniversary, the ' dies quem semper acerbum &c.' is 
beginning to approach, and every face of the sky suggests the ideas 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 255 

of last winter. — Yet I find myself cheerfal in company, nor would 
I recommend it to you to be much alone. — You would lay the 
highest obligation upon me by coming over at this time. — I 
pressed your brother, whom I saw at Birmingham, to use his 
influence with you ; but if you can by no means undertake the 
journey, I will take my speediest opportunity of seeing you at 
Harbury. Mr. Miller invited me strenuously to meet Dr. Lyttel- 
ton at his house ; but I believe my most convenient season will 
be, when my Lord Dudley goes to Barrels ; for T can but ill bear 
the pensiveness of a long and lonely expedition. After all, if you 
can come hither first, it would afford me the most entire satisfac- 
tion. — I have been making alterations in my house that would 
amuse you ; and have many matters to discourse with you, which 
it would be endless to mention upon paper. Adieu ! my dear 
friend ! May your merit be known to some one who has greater 
power to serve you than myself ; but be assured at the same time, 
that no one loves you better, or esteems you more. 

W. Shenstone. 



OLYIII. 

The Rev. Norton Nicholls was a young- man who recom- 
mended himself to Gray, when an undergraduate at Cambridge, 
by his eleo-ant acquaintance with Italian literature. He became 
the most intimate friend of the poet, and his ' Recollections of 
Gray ' are by far the best we possess. He was refined and 
"vivacious in temperament, and suited the shy and melancholy 
scholar of Pembroke to perfection. The following letter gives 
us little idea of Gray's habitual life at Cambridge. ' Gray y 
vivait,' says Bonstettin, ' enseveli dans une espece de cloitre, 
d'oii le quinzieme siecle n'avait pas encore demenage.' 

Thomas Gray to the Rev. Norton Nicholls. 

Pembroke College, November 8, 1768. 
Not a single word since we parted at Norwich, and for aught 1 
know, you may be ignorant how I fell into the jaws of the King of 
Denmark at Newmarket, and might have staid there till this time, 
had I not met with Mr. Yice-chancellor and Mr. Orator, with their 
diplomas and speeches; who, on their return to Cambridge, sent 
me a chaise from thence, and delivered me out of that den of 
thieves. However, I passed a night there ; and in the next room, 



256 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

clivided from me by a thin partition, was a drunken parson and his 
party of pleasure, singing and swearing, and breaking all the ten 
commandments All that I saw on my way else was the abbey 
church at Wyndham, to learned eyes a beautiful remnant of anti- 
quity, part of it in the style of Henry the First, and part in that 
of Henry the Sixth ; the wooden fretwork of the north aisle you 
may copy, when you build the best room of your new Gothic par- 
sonage, it will cost but a trifle. So now 1 am going to town about 
my business, which (if I dispatch to my mind) will leave me at 
rest, and with a tolerably easy temper for one while, I return 
jiither as soon as I can, and give you notice what a sweet 
humour I am in. Mrs. Nicholls and you take advantage of it, 
come and take possession of the lodge at Trinity Hall, (by the 
way, I am commissioned to ofler it to you by Dr. Marriott for 
that purpose, and you have nothing to do but to thank him for his 
civilities, and say at what time you intend to make use of them ;) 
and so we live in clover, and partake the benefits of a University 
education together, as of old. Palgrave is returned from Scotland, 
and will perhaps be here. Mason too, if he is not married, (for 
such a report there is) may come, and Dr. Hallifax is always at 
your service. Lord Richard Cavendish is come : he is a sensible 
boy, awkward and bashful beyond all imagination, and eats a 
buttock of beef at a meal. I have made him my visit, and we did 
tolerably well considering. Watson is his public tutor, and one 
Winstanley his private ; do you know him ? 

Marriott has begun a subscription for a musical amphitheatre, 
has appropriated ^500 (Mr. Titley's legacy to the University) to 
that purpose, and gives twenty guineas himself. He has drawn a 
design for the building, and has printed an argument about the 
poor's-rates, which he intended to have delivered from the bench, 
but one of the parties dropped the cause. He has spoke at the 
Quarter Sessions two hours together, and moved the towns-people 
to tears, and the University to laughter. At laying down his 
office too he spoke Latin and said, Invidiam, et opinionum de me 
commenta delehit dies. He enlarged (which is never done) on the 
qualifications of Hinchliffe his successor, qui mores hominum inul- 
torum vidit et urhes — qui cum Magnis vixit et placuit. Next day 
Hinchlifie made his speech, and said not one word (though it is 
usual) of his predecessor. I tell you Cambridge news for want of 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 257 

better. They say Rigby is to move for the expiilsion of Wilkes 
from the house. My respects to mamma. 

I am yours, 

T. G. 

Tell me about my uncle and aunt : direct to Roberts, Jermyn 
Street, 



CLIX. 

The modem appreciation of light and colour in landscape 
was a thing quite unknown to our ancestors, and it is in this 
letter that the greatest lyric poet of his age, accidentally and as 
if carried out of himself by the instinct of beauty, inaugurates 
the style of descriptive writing which has reached its apex in 
Mr. Ruskin. We see that he was a little ashamed of his enthu- 
siasm ; we see, moreover that he had been reading the last new 
poem, Mr. Ohiistopher Anstey's 'New Bath Guide,' already, 
though but three months old, ' the most fashionable of books.' 

Thomas Gray to the Rev. Norton Nicholls^ 

Pembroke Hall : August 2Q, 1766. 

Dear Sir, — It is long since that I heard you were gone in haste 
into Yorkshire on account of your mother's illness ; and the same 
letter informed me that she was recovered ; otherwise I had then 
wrote to you, only to beg you would take care of her, and to in- 
form you that I had discovered a thing very little known, which 
is, that in one's whole life one never can have any more than a 
single mother. You may think this is obvious, and (what you 
call) a trite observation. You are a green gosling ! I was at the 
same age (very near) as wise as you, and yet I never discovered 
this (with full evidence and conviction, I mean) till it was too 
late. It is thirteen years ago, and seems but yesterday; and 
every day I live it sinks deeper into my heart. 

Many a corollary could I draw from this axiom for yoiu* use, 
(not for my own) but I will leave you the merit of doing it your- 
self. Pray tell me how your own health is. I conclude it perfect, 
as I hear you offered yourself for a guide to Mr. Palgrave, into 
the Sierra-Morena of Yorkshire. For me, I passed the end of 
May and all J une in Kent not disagreeably ; the country is all a 
garden, gay, rich, and fruitful, and (from the rainy season) had 
preserved, tiU I left it, all that emerald verdure, which commonly 



253 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

only one sees for the first fortnight of the spring. In the west 
part of it from every eminence the eye catches some long winding 
reach of the Thames or Medway, with all their navigation ; in the 
east, the sea breaks in upon you, and mixes its white transient 
sails and glittering blue expanse with the deeper and brighter 
greens of the woods and corn. This last sentence is so fine, I am 
quite ashamed ; but, no matter ; you must translate it into prose. 
Palgrave, if he heard it, would cover his face with his pudding 
sleeve. 

I went to Margate for a day ; one would think it was Bar- 
tholomew fair that had^owTi down from Smithfield to Kent in the 
London machine, like my Lady Stuffdamask : (to be sure you 
have read the New Bath Guide, the most fashionable of books) so 
then I did not go to Kinsgate, because it belonged to my Lord 
Holland ; but to Bamsgate I did, and so to Sandwich, and Deal, 
and Dover, and Folkestone, and Hythe, all along the coast, very 
' delightful. I do not tell you of the great and small beasts, and 
creeping things innumerable that I met with, because you do not 
suspect that this world is inhabited by any thing but men and 
women and clei-gy, and such two-legged cattle. 

Now I am here again very disconsolate and all alone, even 
Mr. Brown is gone ; and the cares of this world are coming thick 
upon me ; I do not mean children. You, I hope, are better ofi*, 
riding and walking with Mr. Aislaby, singing duets with my 
cousin Fanny, improving with Mr. Weddell, conversing with 
Mr. Harry Duncomb. I must not wish for you here ; besides, I 
am going to town at Michaelmas, by no means for amusement. 
Do you remember how we are to go into Wales next year 1 Well ! 
Adieu, I am sincerely yours. T. G. 

P.S. Pray how does poor Temple find himself in his new 
situation ? Is Lord Lisburne as good as his letters were ? What 
is come of the father and brother % Have you seen Mason ? 



CLX. 

The one thing Horace Walpole specially prided himself upon 
was being an excellent correspondent. He held that ' letter- 
writing is one of the first duties that the very best people let 
perish out of their rubric ; ' but he has certainly made amends 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 259 

for tlie shortcomings, in this respect, of many equally witty and 
accomplished persons by bequeathing to his successors the best 
and most entertaining collection of letters in our language. 

For variety of anecdote and scandal, malicious humour, 
pleasant cynicism, and lively tittle-tattle, couched in a style at 
once piquant and graceful, his epistles are quite incomparable. 
We must bear in mind, however, that Walpole's aim in life was 
to be amused, and that he gratified this propensity by playing 
the part of a fashionable critic and thoroughbred virtuoso. His 
social position, his wealth, his extensive connection with cour- 
tiers and aristocrats, litterateurs and blue- stockings, and his 
great powers of observation, afforded him unequalled opportuni- 
ties for gratifying his whim. But he was too unsparing a judge 
of the vanities and foibles of his own age to escape being placed 
in the stocks himself ; and Macaulay has done it. 

The Hon. Horace Walpole to Sir Horace Mann. 

Strawberry Hill : June 4, 1749. 
As STimmerly as June and Strawberry Hill may sound, I 
assure you I am writing to you by the fire-side : English weather 
will give vent to its temper, and whenever it is out of humour it 
will blow east and north and all kinds of cold. Your brothers 
Ned and Gal. dined with me to-day, and I carried the latter back 
to Kichmond : as I passed over the green, I saw Lord Bath, Lord 
Lonsdale, and half-a-dozen more of the White's club sauntering at 
the door of a house which they have taken there, and come to 
every Saturday and Sunday to play at whist. You will naturally 
ask why they can't play at whist in London on those two days as 
well as on the other five ; indeed I can't tell you, except that it is 
so established a fashion to go out of town at the end of the week, 
that people do go, though it be only into another town. It made 
me smile to see Lord Bath sitting there, like a citizen that has 
left off trade ! Your brother Ned had not seen Strawberry Hill 
since my great improvements ; he was astonished : it is pretty : 
you never saw so tranquil a scene, without the least air of 
melancholy; I should hate it, if it was dashed with that. I 
forgot to ask Gal. what is become of the books of Houghton 
which I gave him six months ago for you and Dr. Cocchi. You 
perceive I have got your letter of May 23rd, and with it Prince 
Craon's simple epistle to his daughter : I have no mind to de 
liver it : it would be a proper recommendation of a staring boy on 
his travels, and is consequently very suitable to mj colleague, 



260 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 

Master St. Leger ; but one hates to be coupled with a rompii]^ 
greyhound puppy, * qui est moins prudent que Monsieur Yal poll' 
I did not want to be introduced to Madame de Mirepoix's as- 
semblies, but to be acquainted with her, as I like her family : 
I concluded, simple as he is, that an old Frenchman knew how to 
make these distinctions. By thrusting St. Leger into the letter 
with me, and talking of my prudence, I shall not wonder if she 
takes me for his bear-leader, his travelling governor ! 

Mr. Chute, who went from hence this morning, and is always 
thinking of blazoning your pedigree in the noblest colours, has 
turned over all my library, till he has tapped a new and very great 
family for you : in short, by your mother it is very clear that you 
are descended from Hubert de Burgh, Orand Justiciary to Kichard 
the Second : ^ indeed I think he was hanged ; but that is a mis- 
fortune that will attend very illustrious genealogies ; it is as 
common to them as to the pedigrees about Paddington and Black- 
heath. I have had at least a dozen great- great-grandfathers that 
came to untimely ends. All your Virtuosos in heraldry are con- 
tent to know that they had ancestors who lived five hundred 
years ago, no matter how they died. A match with a low woman 
corrupts a stream of blood as long as the Danube, — t}T:"anny, 
villainy, and executions are mere fleabites, and leave no stain. 
The good Lord of Bath, whom I saw on Richmond-green this 
evening, did intend, I believe, to ennoble my genealogy with 
another execution ; how low is he sunk now from those views, 
and how entertaining to have lived to see all those virtuous patriots 
proclaiming their mutual iniquities ! Your friend Mr. Doddington, 
it seems, is so reduced as to be relapsing into virtue. In my last 
I told you some curious anecdotes of another part of the band, of 
Pope and Bolingbroke. The friends of the former have published 
twenty pamphlets against the latter ; I say against the latter, for, 
as there is no defending Pope, they are reduced to satirize Boling- 
broke. One of them tells him how little he would be known him- 
self from his own writings, if he were not immortalized in Pope's ; 
and still more justly, that if he destroys Pope's moral character, 
what will become of his own, which has been retrieved and sanc- 
tified by the embalming art of his friend ? However, there are still 

* This is clearly an oversight. Hubert de Burgh was Henry the Third's 
Justiciar ; and the office was abolished long before the reign of Eichard II. 



1800] IINGLISH LETTERS. 261 

new discoveries made every day of Pope's dirty selfishness. Not 
content with the great profits which he proposed to make of the 
work in question, he could not bear that the interest of his money 
should be lost till Bolingbroke's death ; and therefore told him that 
it would cost very near as much to have the press set for half-a 
dozen copies as it would for a complete edition, and by this mean, 
made Lord Bolingbroke pay very near the whole expense of he 
fifteen hundred. Another story I have been told on this occasion, 
was of a gentleman who, making a visit to Bishop Atterbury in 
France, thought to make his court by commending Pope. The 
Bishop replied not : the gentleman doubled the dose : at last the 
Bishop shook his head, and said, ' Mens curva in corpore curvo ! ' 
The world will now think justly of these men : that Pope was the 
greatest poet, but not the most disinterested man in the world ; 
and that Bolingbroke had not all those virtues and not all those 
talents which the other so proclaimed ; and that he did not even 
deserve the friendship which lent him so much merit ; and for the 
mere loan of which he dissembled attachment to Pope, to whom in 
his heart he was as perfidious and as false as he has been to the 
rest of the world. 

The Duke of Devonshire has at last resigned, for the unaccount- 
able and unenvied pleasure of shutting himself up at Chatsworth 
with his ugly mad Duchess ; the more extraordinary sacrifice, as 
he turned her head, rather than give up a favourite match for his 
son. She has consented to live with him there, and has even been 
with him in town for a few days, but did not see either her son or 
Lady Harrington. On his resignation he asked and obtained an 
English barony for Lord Besborough, whose son Lord Duncannon, 
you know, married the Duke's eldest daughter. I believe this is 
a great disappointment to my uncle, who hoped he would ask the 
peerage for him or Pigwiggin. The Duke of Marlborough suc- 
ceeds as lord steward. Adieu ! 



CLXL 

The Hon. Horace Wafyole to Sir Horace Mann. 

Arlington Street : June 25, 1749. 
Don't flatter yourself with your approaching year of Jubilee : 
its pomps and vanities will be nothing to the shows and triumphs 



2G2 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

we have had and are having. I talk like an Englishman : here 
you know we imagine that a jubilee is a season of pageants, not 
of devotion ; but our Sabbath has really been all tilt and tourna- 
ment. There have been, I think, no less than eight masquerades, 
the fire- works, and a public act at Oxford : to-morrow is an instal- 
lation of six Knights of the Bath, and in August of as many 
Garters : Saturday, Sunday, and Monday next, are tbe banquets 
at Cambridge, for the instalment of the Duke of Newcastle as 
chancellor. The whole world goes to it : he has invited, sum- 
moned, pressed the entire body of nobility and gentry from all 
parts of England. His cooks have been there these ten days, 
distilling essences of every living creature, and massacring and 
confounding all the species that Noah and Moses took such pains to 
preserve and distinguish. It would be pleasant to see pedants and 
professors searching for etymologies of strange dishes, and tracing 
more wonderful transformations tlian any in the Metamorphoses. 
How miserably Horace's unde et quo Catius will be hacked about 
in clumsy quotations ! I have seen some that will be very unwil- 
ling performers at the creation of this ridiculous Mamamouchi} 
I have set my heart on their giving a doctor's degree to the 
Duchess of Newcastle's favoarite — this favourite is at present 
neither a lover nor an apothecary, but a common pig, that she 
brought from Hanover : I am serious ; and Harry Yane, the new lord 
of the treasury, is entirely employed, when he is not at the Board, 
in opening and shutting the door for it. Tell me, don't you very 
often throw away my letters in a passion, and believe that I invent 
the absurdities I relate ! — Were not we as mad when you was in 
England 1 

The King, Avho has never dined out of his own palaces, has 
just determined to dine at Claremont to-morrow — all the cooks 
are at Cambridge — imagine the distress ! 

Last Thursday, the Monarch of my last paragraph gave away 
the six vacant ribands : one to a Margrave of Anspach, a near 
relation of the late Queen; others to the Dukes of Leeds and 
Bedford, Lords Albemarle and Granville : the last, you may 
imagine, gives some uneasiness. The Duke of Bedford has always 
been unwilling to take one, having tied himself up in the days of 
his patriotism to forfeit great sums if ever he did. The King told 
* See Moli^re's Bourgeois Gcntilhomme. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 263 

him one day this winter, that he would give none away but to 
him and to Anspach. This distinction struck him : he could not 
refuse the honour; but he has endeavoured to waive it, as one 
imagines, by a scruple he raised against the oath, which obliges 
the Knights, whenever they are within two miles of Windsor, to 
go and offer. The King would not abolish the oath, but has given 
a general dispensation for all breaches of it, past, present, and to 
come. Lord Lincoln and Lord Harrington are very unhappy at 
not being in the list. The sixth riband is at last given to Prince 
George : the Ministry coiild not prevail for it till within half an 
hour of the ceremony ; then the Bishop of Salisbury was sent to 
notify the gracious intention. The Prince was at Kew, so the 
message was delivered to Prince George himself. The child, with 
gTcat good sense, desired the Bishop to give his duty and thanks, 
and to assure the King that he should always obey him ; but that, 
as his father was out of town, he could send no other answer. Was 
not it clever ? Thst design of not giving one riband to the Prince's 
children had made great noise : there was a Bemembrancer ^ on 
that subject ready for the press. This is the Craftsman of the 
present age, and is generally levelled at the Duke, and filled with 
very cii'cumstantial cases of his arbitrary behaviour. It has 
absolutely written down Hawley, his favourite general and execu- 
tioner, who was to have been upon the staff. 

Garrick is married to the famous Yiolette,- first at a Protestant, 
and then at a Boman Catholic chapel. The chapter of this history 
is a little obscure and uncertain as to the consent of the protecting 
Countess, and whether she gives her a fortune or not. 

Adieu ! I believe I tell you strange rhapsodies ; but you must 
consider that our follies are not only very extraordinary, but are 
our business and employment : they enter into our politics, nay, 
I think they are our politics — and I don't know which are the 
simplest. They are Tally's description of poetry, *hcec studia 
juventutem alunt, senectutem oblectant; pernoctant nobiscum, 
peregrinantur, rusticantur,' so if you will that I write to you, you 
must be content with a detail of absurdities. I could tell you of 
Lord Mountford's making cricket-matches, and fetching up parsons 

^ A weekly newspaper. 

2 A German dancer at the Opera House, and a protegee of Dorothy, 
Countess of Burlino-ton. 



2C1 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700, 

by express from different parts of England to play matelies on 
Kichmond-green ; of his keeping aide-de camps to ride to all parts 
to lay bets for him at horse-races, and of twenty other pecu- 
liarities ; but I fancy you are tired : in short, you, who know me, 
will comprehend all best when I tell you that I live in such a scene 
of folly as makes me even think myself a creature of common sense. 



CLXII. 

Horace Walpole rarely lost a favourable opportunity of 
addressing any celebrated personapre. This is one of many con- 
gratulatory epistles to the elder Pitt received at the end of 
1759 — the year of Minden, Quiberon Bay, and Quebec ; ' a year 
the most auspicious this country ever knew,' wrote Lord Bute. 

The Hon. Horac5 Walpole to William Pitt. 

November 19, 1759. 

Sir, — On my coming to town I did myself the honour of waiting 
on you and Lady Hester Pitt; and though I think myself ex- 
tremely distinguished by your obliging note, I should be sorry for 
having given you the trouble of writing it, if it did not leiid me a 
very pardonable opportunity of saying what I much wished to 
express, but thought myself too private a person and of too little 
consequence to take the liberty to say. In short. Sir, I was eager 
to congratulate you on the lustre you have thrown on this country ; 
I wished to thank you for the security you have fixed to me of 
enjoying the happiness I do enjoy. You have placed England in a 
situation in which it never saw itself, — a task the more diflScult, 
as you had not to improve, but recover. 

In a trifling book, written two or three years ago,^ I said 
(speaking of the name in the world the most venerable to me) 
* sixteen unfortunate and inglorious years since his removal have 
already written his eulogium.' It is but justice to you. Sir, to 
add, that that period ended when your administration began. Sir, 
do not take this for flattery : there is nothing in your power to 
give that I would accept ; nay, there is nothing I could envy, but 
what I believe you would scarce offer me, your glory. This may 
seem very vain and insolent ; but consider. Sir, what a monarch 
is a man who wants nothing ; consider how he looks down on one 

' The catalogue of Eoyal and noble authors. 



1800] UNGirSH LETTERS. 265 

who is only tlie most illnstrious man in Britain. But, Sir, freedoms 
apart ; insignificant as I am, probably it must be some satisfaction 
to a great mind like your's, to receive incense when you are sure 
there is no flattery blended with it. And what must any English- 
man be that could give you a moment's satisfaction, and would 
hesitate ? 

Adieu, Sir. I am unambitious, I am uninterested — but I am 
A^ain. You have by your notice, uncanvassed, unexpected, and at 
the period when you certainly could have the least temptation to 
stoop down to me, flattered me in the most agi-eeable manner. If 
there could arrive the moment when you could be nobody, and I 
any body, you cannot imagine how grateful I would be. In the 
mean time, permit me to be, as I have been ever since I had the 
honour of knowing you. Sir, 

Your most obedient, humble servant. 

Hoe ACE Walpole. 

OLXIII. 

The sublime and the ridicidous at the funeral of George II. 

The Hon. Horace Walpole to George Montagu. 

Arlington Street: November 13, 1760. 

Even the honeymoon of a new reign don't produce events 
every day. There is nothing but the common saying of addresses 
and kissing hands. The chief difficulty is settled; Lord Gower 
yields the mastership of the horse to Lord Huntingdon, and re- 
moves to the great wardrobe, from whence Sir Thomas Robinson 
was to have gone into Ellis' place, but he is saved. The city, 
however, have a mind to be out of humour ; a paper has been 
fixed on the Koyal Exchange, with these Avords, * No. petticoat 
government, no Scotch minister, no Lord George Sackville ' ; 
two hints totally unfounded, and the other scarce true. N"o petti- 
coat ever governed less, it is left at Leicester House : Lord George's 
breeches are as little concerned ; and, except Lady Susan Stuart 
and Sir Harry Erskine, nothing has yet been done for any Scots. 
For the King himself, he seems all good nature, and wishing to 
satisfy everybody ; all his speeches are obliging. 

I saw him again yesterday, and was surprised to find the levee- 
room had lost so entirely the air of the lion's den. This sovereign 



266 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

don't stand in one spot, with his eyes fixed royally on the ground, 
and dropping bits of German news ; he walks about, and speaks 
to everybody. I saw him afterwards on the throne where he is 
graceful and genteel, sits wdth dignity and reads his answers to 
addresses well; it was the Cambridge address, carried by the 
Duke of Newcastle in his doctor's gown, and looking like the 
Medecin malgre lui. He had been vehemently solicitous for 
attendance for fear my Lord Westmoreland, who vouchsafes him- 
self to bring the address from Oxford, should outnumber him. 
Lord Litchfield and several other Jacobites have kissed hands: 
George Selwyn says, ' They go to St. James,' because now there are 
so many Stuarts there.' 

Do you know, I had the curiosity to go to the burying t'other 
night ; I had never seen a royal funeral ; nay, I walked as a rag 
of quality, which I found would be, and so it was, the easiest 
way of seeing it. It is absolutely a noble sight. The Prince's 
chamber, hung with purple, and a quantity of silver lamps, the 
coffin under a canopy of purple velvet, and six vast chandeliers of 
silver on high stands, had a very good effect. The ambassador 
from Tripoli and his son were carried to see that chamber. - 

The procession, through a line of foot guards, every seventh 
man bearing a torch, the horse-guards lining the outside, their 
officers with drawn sabres and crape sashes on horseback, the 
drums muffled, the fifes, bells tolling, and minute guns, — all this 
was very solemn. But the charm was the entrance of the abbey, 
where we were received by the dean and chapter in rich robes, the 
choir and almsmen bearing torches ; the whole abbey so illu- 
minated, that one saw it to greater advantage than by day ; the 
tombs, long aisles, and fretted roof, all ap]iearing distinctly, and 
with the happiest chiaro scuro. There wanted nothing but incense, 
and little chapels here and there, with priests saying mass for the 
repose of the defunct ; yet one could not complain of its not being 
Catholic enough. I had been in dread of being coupled with 
some boy of ten years old ; but the heralds were not very accurate, 
and I walked with George Grenville, taller and older, to keep me 
in countenance. When we came to the- Chapel of Henry the 
Seventh, all solemnity and decorum ceased ; no order was observed, 
people sat or stood where they could or would ; the Yeomen of 
the Guard were crying out for help, oppressed by the immense 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 267 

weiglit of the coffin ; the bishop read sadly and blundered in the 
prayers ; the fine chapter, Man that is born of a looman, was 
chanted, not read ; and the anthem, besides being immeasurably 
tedious, would have served as well for a nuptial. The real serious 
part was the figure of the Duke of Cumberland, heightened by 
a thousand melancholy circumstances. He had a dark brown 
adonis, and a cloak of black cloth, with a train of five yards. 

Attending the funeral of a father could not be pleasant : his 
leg extremely bad, yet forced to stand upon it near two hours ; 
Ms face bloated and distorted with his late paralytic stroke, 
which has affected, too, one of his eyes ; and placed over the 
mouth of the vault into which, in all probability, he must himself 
so soon descend ; think how unpleasant a situation ! He bore it 
all with a firm and unaffected countenance. This grave scene was 
fully contrasted by the burlesque Duke of Newcastle. He fell 
into a fit of crying the moment he came into the chapel, and flung 
himself back in a stall, the archbishop hovering over him with a 
smelling-bottle ; but in two minutes his curiosity got the better of 
his hypocrisy, and he ran about the chapel with his glass to spy 
who was or was not there, spying with one hand, and mopping his 
eyes with the other. Then returned the fear of catching cold ; and 
the Duke of Cumberland, who was sinking with heat, felt himself 
weighed down, and turning round, found it was the Duke of 
Newcastle standing upon his train, to avoid the chill of the marble. 
It was very theatric to look down into the vault, where the coffiai 
was, attended by mourners with lights. Clavering, the groom of 
the bed-chamber, refused to sit up with the body, and was dismissed 
by the King's order. 

I have nothing more to tell you, but a trifle, a very trifle. 
The King of Prussia has totally defeated Marshal Daun.' This 
which would have been prodigious news a month ago, is nothing 
to-day ; it only takes its turn among the questions, ' Who is to be 
groom of the bed-chamber 1 What is Sir T. Robinson to have 1 * 
I have been to Leicester fields to-day ; the crowd was immoderate ; 
I don't believe it will continue so. Good night. 

1 The Austrian General Daun, the ablest of the antagonists of Frede- 
rick n., was defeated at Torgau. This was the bloodiest battle fought 
during the Seven Tears' War. 



2G8 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CLXIV. 

The conversation between Horace Walpole and Hogarth, so 
graphically described in this letter, took place "very many years 
after the great painter had practically abandoned portrait- 
painting, and indeed some time after he had completed those 
■works by which he will ever be famous. But he was aiming at 
a different and a higher standard of excellence in his art, and it 
is clear that Walpole coincided in Sir Joshua Reynolds' opinion 
that ' Hogarth was not blessed with the knowledge of his own 
deficiency, or of the bounds which were set to the extent of his 
own powers.' 

The Hon. Horace Waljwle to George Montagu. 

Arlington Street: May 5, 1761. 

We have lost a young genius, Sir William Williams; an 
express from Belleisle, arrived this morning, brings nothing but 
his death. He was shot very unnecessarily, riding too near a 
battery ; in sum he is a sacrifice to his own rashness and to 
ours. For what are we taking Belleisle ? I rejoiced at the little 
loss we had on landing ; for the glory, I leave it to the common 
council. I am very willing to leave London to them too, and to 
pass half the week at Strawberry, where my two passions, lilacs 
and nightingales are in full bloom. I spent Sunday as if it were 
Apollo's birthday ; Gray and Mason were with me, and we listened 
to the nightingales till one o'clock in the morning. Gray has 
translated two noble incantations from the Lord knows who, a 
Danish Gray, who lived the Lord knows when. They are to be 
enchased in a history of English bards which Mason and he are 
writing ; but of which the former has not written a word yet, and 
of which the latter, if he rides Pegasus at his usual footpace will 
finish the first two pages two years hence. 

But the true frantic CEstus resides at present with Mr. 
Hogarth ; I went t'other morning to see a portrait he is painting 
of Mr. Fox. Hogarth told me he had promised, if Mr. Fox would 
sit as he liked, to make as good a picture as Vandyke or Bubens 
could. I was silent — ' Why now,' said he, ' you think this very 
vain, but why should not one speak truth 1 ' This truth was 
uttered in the face of his own Sigismonda. . . She has her father's 
picture in a bracelet on her arm, and her fingers are bloody with 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 269 

the heart, as if she had just bought a sheep's pluck in St. James's 
market. As I was going, Hogarth put on a very grave face and 
said, ' Mr. Walpole, I want to speak to you.' I sat down and said 
I was ready to receive his commands. For shortness I will mark 
this wonderful dialogue by initial letters. 

H. I am told you are going to entertain the town with some- 
thing in our way. 

W. Not very soon, Mr. Hogarth. H. I wish you would let me 
have it to correct it : I should be very sorry to have you expose 
yourself to censure ; we painters must know more of these things 
than other people. 

W. Do you think nobody understands painting but painters % 
H. Oh ! so far from it, there's Reynolds who certainly has genius ; 
why, but t'other day he offered a hundred pounds for a picture that 
I would not hang in my cellar ; and indeed, to say truth, I have 
generally found that persons who had studied painting least were 
the best judges of it ; but what I particularly wished to say to 
you was about Sir James Thornhill (you know he married Sir 
James' daughter) : I w^ould not have you say anything against him ; 
there was a book published some time ago, abusing him, and 
it gave great offence. He was the first that attempted history 
in England, and, I assure you, some Germans have said that he 
was a very great painter. "W. My work will go no lower than 
the year 1700, and I really have not considered whether Sir J. 
Thornhill will come within my plan or not; if he does, I fear 
you and I shall not agree upon his merits. 

H. I wish you would let me- correct it ; besides I am writino-- 
something of the same kind myself ; I should be sorry we should 
clash. 

W. I believe it is not much known what my work is, very 
few persons have seen it. 

H. Why it is a critical history of painting is it not % W. No, 
it is an antiquarian history of it in England; I bought Mr. \^ertue's 
MSS. and, I beHeve, the work will not give much offence ; besides, 
if it does, I cannot help it : when I publish anything I give it to 
the world to think of it as they please. 

H. Oh ; if it is an antiquarian work, we shall not clash ; mine 
is a critical work ; I don't know whether I shall ever publish it. 
It is rather an apology for painters. I think it is owing to the 
13 



270 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

good sense of the English they have not painted better. W. My 
dear IVIr. Hogarth, I must take my leave of you, you now grow- 
too wild — and I left him. If I had stayed, there remained nothing 
but for him to bite me. I give you my honour this conversation is 
literal, and, perhaps as long as you have known Englishmen and 
painters you have never met with anything so distracted. I had 
consecrated a line to his genius (I mean, for wit) in my preface ; I 
shall not erase it ; but I hope nobody will ask me if he is not mad. 

Adieu ! 

CLXV. 

The Hon. Horace Walpole to the Earl of Strafford. 

Paris : September 8, 17G9. 
T'other night at the Duchess of Choiseul's at supper, the in- 
tendant of Kouen asked me if we had roads of communication all 
over England and Scotland 1 I suppose he thinks that in general 
we inhabit trackless forests and wild mountains, and that once a 
year a few legislators come to Paris to learn the arts of civil life, 
as to sow corn, plant vines and make operas. If this letter should 
contrive to scramble through that desert Yorkshire, where your 
lordship has attempted to improve a dreary hill and uncultivated 
vale, you will find I remember your commands of writing from 
this capital of the world, whither I am come for the benefit of my 
country, and where I am intensely studying those laws and that 
beautiful frame of government, which can alone render a nation 
happy, great and flourishing ; where lettres de cachet soften 
manners, and a proper distribution of luxury and beggary 
ensures a common felicity. As we have a prodigious number of 
students in legislature of both sexes here at present, I will not 
anticipate their discoveries ; but, as your particular friend, will 
communicate a rare improvement on nature which these great 
philosophers have made and which would add considerable beauties 
to those parts which your lordship has already recovered from the 
waste, and taught to look a little like a Christian country. The 
secret is very simple, and yet demanded the effb'rt of a mighty 
genius to strike it out. It is nothing but this : trees ought to be 
educated as much as men, and are strange awkward productions 
when not taught to hold themselves upright or bow on proper 



1800] EXGLISH LETTERS. 271 

occasions. The academy de helles lettres have even offered a prize 
for the man that shall recover the long lost art of an ancient Greek, 
called le sieur Ovphee, who instituted a dancing school for plants, 
and gave a magnificent ball on the birth of the Dauphin of France 
which was performed entirely by forest- trees. In this whole 
kingdom there is no such thing as seeing a tree that is not well 
behaved. They are first stripped up and then cut down ; and you 
would as soon meet a man with his hair about his ears as an oak 
or ash. As the weather is very hot now, and the soil chalk, and the 
dust white, I assure you it is very difficult, powdered as both are 
all over, to distinguish a tree from a hair dresser. Lest this should 
sound like a travelling hyperbole, I must advertise your lordship, 
that there is little difference in their heights : for, a tree of thirty 
years' growth being liable to be marked as royal timber, the proprie- 
tors take care not to let their trees live to the age of being enlisted, 
but burn them, and plant others as often almost as they change 
their fashions. This gives an air of perpetual youth to the face of 
the country, and if adopted by us would realize Mr. Addison's 
visions, and * Make our bleak rocks and barren mountains smile.' 

What other remarks I have made in my indefatigable search after 
knowledge must be reserved to a future opportunity ; but as your 
lordship is my friend, I may venture to say without vanity to you, 
that Solon nor any of the ancient philosophers who travelled to 
Egypt in quest of religions, mysteries, laws, and fables, never sat up 
so late with the ladies and priests and presidents du parlement 
at Memphis, as I do here — and consequently were not half so well 
quahfied as I am to new-model a commonwealth. I have learned 
how to make remonstrances,^ and how to answer them. The latter, 
it seems, is a science much wanted in my own country ; and yet 
it is as easy and obvious as their treatment of trees, and. not very 
unlike it. It was delivered many years ago in an oracular 
sentence of my namesake — ' Odi profanum vulgus, et arceo.' You 
must drive away the vulgar, and you must have an hundred 
and fifty thousand men to drive them away with — that is all. I 
do not wonder the intendantof Rouen thinks we are still in a state 
of barbarism, when we are ignorant of the very rudiments of 
government. 

J Alluding to the Remonstrances from the City of London, and other 
corporate bodies, after a majority of the House of Commons had voted 
against the claims of John Wilkes to take his seat as member for Middlesex. 



272 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

The Duke and Duchess of Eiclinioiid have heen here a few 
days, and have gone to Aubigne. I do not think him at gCll well, 
and am exceedingly concerned for it ; as I know no man who has 
more estimable qualities. They return by the end of the month. 
I am fluctuating whether I shall not return with them,' as they 
have pressed me to do, through Holland. I never was there, and 
could never go so agreeably ; but then it would protract niy absence 
three weeks, and I am impatient to be in my own cave, notwith- 
standing the wisdom I imbibe every day. But one cannot sacrifice 
one's self wholly to the public : Titus and Wilkes have now and then 
lost a day. Adieu, my dear lord ! Be assured that I shall not 
disdain yours and Lady Strafford's conversation, though you have 
nothing but the goodness of your hearts, and the simplicity of 
your manners, to recommend you to the more enlightened under- 
standing of your old friend. 



OLXVI. 

In refusing to he made the dummy of Thomas Chatterton's 
literary forgeries of the Rowley poems, Horace Walpole acted 
in a sensible and dignified manner. The partisans of Ohatterton 
charged the great conoscente not only with arrogance and un- 
kindness, hut with being the indirect cause of poor Chatterton's 
death, as though Walpole could have guessed that the ver}^ life 
of this extraordinary hoy depended on his being hoaxed by 
means of certain spurious legends. ' If,' wrote Walpole, * Row- 
ley could rise from the dead and acknowledge every line ascribed 
to him, he could not prove that I used Ohatterton ill. I would 
take the ghost's word, and am sure it would be in my favour.' 
Among the letters and statements written to vindicate his own 
conduct, is to be found the following tribute of admiration for 
'the marvellous boy, 
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride.' 

The Hon. Horace Walpole to the Editor of the Miscellanies of 
Ohatterton. 

Strawberry Hill : May, 1778. 
As the warmest devotees to Ohatterton cannot be more per- 
suaded than I am of the marvellous vigour of his genius at so very 
premature an age, I shall here subjoin the principal seras ^ of his life, 

* In the original correspondence these data are given at the end of this 
latter, but they are very incomplete. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 273 

■which, when compared with the powers of his mind, the perfection of 
his poetry, his knowledge of the world, which, though in some respects 
erroneous, spoke quick intuition, his humour, his vein of satire, 
and above all the amazing number of books he must have looked 
rnto, though chained down to a laborious and almost incessant 
service, and confined to Bristol, except at most for the last five 
months of his life, the rapidity with which he seized all the topics 
of conversation then in vogue, whether of poKtics, literature, or 
fashion ; and when, added to all this mass of reflection, it is 
remembered that his youthful passions were indulged to excess, 
faith in such a prodigy may well be suspended — and we should look 
for some secret agent behind the curtain, if it were not as diflScult 
to beheve that any man possessed of such a vein of genuine poetry 
would have submitted to lie concealed, while he actuated a puppet; 
or would have stopped to prostitute his muse to so many unworthy 
functions. But nothing in Chatterton can be separated from 
Chatterton. His noblest flights, his sweetest strains, his grossest 
ribaldry, and his most common-place imitations of the productions 
of magazines, were all the effervescences of the same migovernable 
impulse, which, cameleon-like, imbibed the coloui-s of all it looked 
on. It was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or SmoUet, or 
Junius — and if it failed most in what it most affected to be, a 
poet of the fifteenth century, it was because it could not imitate 
what had not existed. I firmly believe that the first impression 
made on so warm and fertile an imagination was the sight of some 
old parchments at Bristol ; that meeting with Ossian's poems, his 
soul, which was all poetry, felt it was a language in which his 
invention could express itself; and having lighted on the names of 
Rowley and Canninge, he bent his I'esearches towards the authors 
of their age ; and as far as his means could reach, in so confined a 
sphere, he assembled materials enough to deceive those who have 
all their lives dealt in such uncouth lore, and not in our classic 
authors, nor have perceived that taste had not developed itself in the 
reign of Edward IV. It is the taste in Rowley's supposed poems 
that will for ever exclude them from belonging to that period. Mr. 
Tyrrwhit and Mr. Warton have convicted them of being spurious 
by technical criterions; and Rowley I doubt will remain in 
possession of nothing that did not deserve to be forgotten, even 
should some fragments of old parchments and old verses be ascer- 
tained antique. 



274 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CLXVII. 

Miss Hecky Miilso was Gilbert "White's first and only love. 
He did not succeed in persuading her to marry him, and in 
• 1760, in her thirty-fourth year, she became Mrs. dhapone, after- 
wards famous as the author of 'Letters to a Young Lady.' But 
the friendship continued, and it was in answer to some verses 
addressed to Timothy, the famous Selborne tortoise, that White 
wrote this letter. By some whim of old bachelor coquetry he 
makes Timothy address the lady by her long-dropped maiden 
name. 

Gilbert White to Hester Chapone. 

Selborne: August 31, 1784. 

Most respectable Lady, — ^Your letter gave me great satisfaction, 
being the first that ever I was honor'd with. It is my wish to 
answer you in your own way ; but T never could make a verse in 
my life, so you must be contented with plain prose. Having seen 
but little of this great world, conversed but little and read less, 
I feel myself much at a loss how to entertain so intelligent a 
correspondent. Unless you will let me write about myself, my 
answer will be very short indeed. 

Know then that I am an American and was born in the year 
1734 in the Province of Virginia in the midst of a Savanna that 
lay between a large tobacco plantation and a creek of the sea. Here 
I spent my youthful days among my relations with much satisfaction, 
and saw around me many venerable kinsmen, who had attained 
to great ages, without any interruption from distempers. Longevity 
is so general among our species that a funeral is quite a strange 
occurrence. I can just remember the death of my great-great- 
grandfather, who departed this life in the 160th year of his age. 
Happy should I have been in the enjoyment of my native climate 
and the society of my friends had not a sea-boy, who was wander- 
ing about to see what he could pick up, surprized me as I was 
sunning myself under a bush ] and whipping me into his wallet, 
carryed me aboard his ship. The circumstances of our voyage 
are not worthy a recital ; I only remember that the rippling of the 
water against the sides of our vessel as we sailed along was a very 
lulling and composing sound, which served to sooth my slumbers 
as I lay in the hold. We had a short voyage, and came to anclior, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 275 

on the coast of England in the harbour of Chichester. In that 
city my kidnapper sold me for half a-crown to a country gentle- 
man, who came up to attend an election. I was immediately 
packed in a hand-basket, and carryed, slung by the servant's side, 
to their place of abode. As they rode very hard for forty miles, 
and I had never been on horseback before, I found myself some- 
what giddy from my airy jaunt. My purchaser, who was a great 
humorist, after shewing me to some of his neighbours and giving 
me the name of Timothy, took little further notice of me; so I fell 
under the care of his lady, a benevolent woman, whose humane 
attention extended to the meanest of her retainers. 

With this gentlewoman I remained almost 40 years, living in a 
little walled in court in the front of her house, and enjoying much 
quiet and as much satisfaction as I could expect without society. At 
last this good old lady dyed in a very advanced age, such as a tortoise 
would call a good old age ; and I then became the property of her 
nephew. This man, my present master, dug me out of my winter 
retreat, and, packing me in a deal box, jumbled me 80 miles in 
post-chaises to my present place of abode. I was sore shaken by 
this expedition, which was the worst journey I ever experienced. 
In my present situation I enjoy many advantages — such as the 
range of an extensive garden, affording a variety of sun and shade, 
and abounding in lettuces, poppies, kidney beans, and many other 
salubrious and delectable herbs and plants, and especially with a 
great choice of delicate gooseberries ! But still at times I miss my 
good old mistress, whose grave and regular deportment suited best 
with my disposition. For you must know that my master is what 
they call, a naturalist, and much visited by people of that turn, who 
often put him on whimsical experiments, such as feeling my pulse, 
putting me in a tub of water to try if I can swim, &c., and twice 
in the year I am carried to the grocer's to be weighed, that it may 
be seen how much I am wasted during the months of my 
abstinence, and how much I gain by feasting in the summer. 
Upon these occasions I am placed in the scale on my back, where 
I sprawl about to the great diversion of the shop-keeper's children. 
These matters displease me ; but there is another that much hurts 
my pride : I mean that contempt shown for my understanding 
which these Lords of the Creation are very apt to discover, think- 
ing that nobody knows anything but themselves. I heard my 



276 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

master say that he expected that I should some day tumble down 
the ha-ha ; whereas I would have him to know that I can discern 
a precipice from plain ground as well as himself. Sometimes my 
master repeats with much seeming-triumph the following lines, 
which occasion a loud laugh. 

Timotheus placed on high 
Amidst the tuneful choir, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre. 

For my part I see no wit in the application ; nor know whence 
the verses are quoted, perhaps from some prophet of his own, who, 
if he penned them for the sake of ridiculing tortoises, bestowed his 
pains, I think, to poor purposes. These are some of my grievances ; 
but they sit very light on me in comparison of what remains behind. 
Know then, tender-hearted lady, that my greatest misfortune, and 
what I have never divulged to any one before, is — the want of 
society of my own kind. This reflection is always uppermost in 
my own mind, but comes upon me with irresistible force every 
spring. It was in the month of May last that 1 1 esolved to elope 
from my place of confinement, for my fancy had represented to me 
that probably many agreeable tortoises of both sexes might inhabit 
the heights of Baker's Hill or the extensive plains of the neigh- 
bouring meadow, both of which I could discern fi-om the terrass. 
One sunny morning, therefore, I watched my opportunity, found 
the wicket open, eluded the vigilance of Thomas Hoar, and escaped 
into the saint-foin, which began to be in bloom, and thsnce into the 
beans. I Avas missing eight days, wandering in this wilderness of 
sweets, and exploring the meadow at times. But my pains were 
all to no purpose ; I could find no society such as I wished and 
sought for. I began to grow hungry, and to wish myself at 
home. I therefore came forth in sight, and sm-reudered myself up 
to Thomas, who had been inconsolable in my absence. Thus, 
Madam, have I given you a faithful account of my satisfactions 
and sorrows, the latter of which are mostly uppermost. You are a 
lady, I understand, of much sensibility. Let me therefore, make my 
case your own in the following manner ; and then you will judge 
of my feelings. 

Suppose you were to be kidnapped away to-morroic, in the bloom 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 277 

of your life, to a land of Tortoises, and were never to see again 
for fifty years a human face ! ! ! Think on this, dear lady, 
and pity 

Your sorrowful Keptile 

Timothy. 

CLxviri. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Montajru, the writer of au Essay on the 
Genius of Shakespeare, was the leader of the lady-wits of her 
day. In concert with Mrs, Yesey and Mrs. Ord she instituted 
those intellectual reunions from which the term * blue-stocking- ' 
arose. Female pedants, as this term 'blue-stocking' has grown 
to mean, these women certainly were not; they were highly 
gifted and accomplished lovers of society, whose chief aim 
was to supersede the prevailing occupation of card-playing by 
convei'sation parties. Mrs. Chapone had already opened up an 
attack against the fashionable vice of gambling in No. 10 of the 
' Rambler.' Erom small literary breakfast parties Mrs. Montagu 
advanced to evening assemblies for conversation, and her house 
in Hill Street was visited by such brilliant talkers as Dr. 
Johnson, Lord Lyttleton, Garrick, Pulteney, Mason, Burke, 
Lord Althorp, Mrs. Thrale, Madame d'Arblay, Horace Walpole, 
Mrs. Buller (who could hold her own for an hour and mo)"e 
in argument against Dr. Johnson), and Stillingfleet. The last- 
named was a distinguished converser who always wore blue 
stockings, and his occasional absence was so much felt that 
it became a common saying, ' We can do nothing without the 
blue stockings.' These meetings soon came to be called bas- 
bleu assemblies. In her own generation Mrs. Montagu was 
without a superior in the art of letter writing. 

Mrs. Elizaheth Montagu to Gilbert West, 

Sandleford: September 3, 1753. 
I am much obliged to my dear cousin, for his kind and agree- 
able letter, which gave me a higher pleasure and more intense 
delight, than those rural objects which employed my attention in 
my walks, or filled the magic lantern of my mind, in those noon- 
day dreams, you suppose to have amused me. You are mistaken, 
when yoii imagine I sent invitations to beaux and belles, to fill the 
vacant apartments of my mind. True indeed, that there may be 
empty space enough to receive French hoops, and, from the same 
reason, an echo to repeat French sentiments; but there are few of 
the fine world whom I should invite into my mind, and fewer still, 
who are familiar enough there, to come unasked. I make use of 

Jo- 



278 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

tliese seasons of retirement and leisure, to do like the good house- 
wives, to sweep the rooms, range the little homely furniture in 
order, and deck them with a little sage and other herbs of grace, 
as they are called, and then hope the fairies will come and visit 
them, and not the dull creatures of earth's mould, of whom I have 
enough when T am in town. But you are a welcome and a frequent 
guest, because you bring with you those virtues and graces, whose 
presence I would desire. I am pleased with your praise of Moliere, 
but not with your apjolication of his Misanthrope. When virtue 
and wisdom live out of the world, they grow delicate, but it is too 
severe to call that moroseness ; and, perhaps, they lose something 
of their purity, when they mix with the crowd, and abate in 
strength, as they improve in flexibility. There is a limit, and a 
short one too, beyond which human virtue cannot go ; a hair's 
breadth beyond the line, and it is vice, I am now satisfied of 
what I had before believed, (as you seem so much to admire the 
Misanthrope), that it is far beyond all comedies that ever were 
written. The character being so entirely kept up, and the error, 
though every where visible, no where monstrous. The Misanthrope 
has the same moroseness in his love suit and his law suit'; he is as 
rigid and severe to a bad verse as a bad action, and as strict in a 
salutation in the street or address in a drawing-room, as he would 
be in his testimony in a court of justice; right in the principle, 
wrong only in the excess, you cannot hate him when he is un- 
pleasant, nor despise him when he is absurd. When the ground- 
work of a character is virtuous, whatever fantastic forms or 
uncouth figures may be. wrought upon it, it cannot appear abso- 
lutely odious or ridiculous. On the contrary, where the ground 
is vicious, however prettily adorned or gayly coloured, set it in 
open day, it will be detestable ; of which we have an instance 
in this play ; we hate and despise the lively agreeable coquette, as 
soon as we discover her, and esteem the rigid unamiable Mis- 
anthrope. I think my young cousin can hardly have a better 
amusement than reading Moliere ; from whose delicate wit and 
nice satirical touch, he will find that not only the worst passions 
want correction and restraint, but the best regulation. The first 
prayer I should make, if I had a son, would be that he might be 
free from vice ; the second, that he might be free from absurdity, 
the least grain of it spoils a whole character, and I do not know any 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 279 

comic author more useful than MoHere, for both these purposes. 
Our English play-writers give some vice or affectation, to all their 
principal characters. I am very well, and careful of my health ; 
all people are fond of novelty and you know health is such to me, but 
nothing can more recommend it to me, than thinking my welfare of 
consequence to you. Adieu, Cousin ! I must put on a great hoop, 
and go three miles to dinner ; how much better was our gipsey-life ! 
I believe I shall enter myself of the society at Norwood, the rather 
tempted to it, as I should be your neighbour. I have not heard 
from Mrs Boscawen, but I am glad she had the pleasure of spending 
sometime at Wickham. 



CLXIX. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Mo7itagu to Gilbert West. 

Hill Street [1754]. 
My most inestimable cousin, — I am much more satisfied now 
I find that your indisposition was owing to the rencontre of salt 
fish, milk, and a strange olio of diet, than when I imagined it was 
the gout in your stomach. But pity, which sometimes subsides 
into soft passions, on this occasion warms and hardens into anger. 
Why, when an invalid, would you be so careless of your diet ? 
However difficult it may be to the strong temper of the budge 
doctors of the stoic fur, to run mad with discretion, I assure you it 
is not impossible to the gentle dame in blonde lace and Paris 
hoop; I followed the precepts of the tres-precieuse Lady Grace, 
and visited ' soberly.' I have not been out since Sunday, Mr. 
Montagu's cold having given me a reason for staying at home, and 
my indolence would have been glad even of an excuse. I did not 
see Sir George Lyttelton till yesterday morning, but the account 
he gave of your health pleased me very much. The good Dean 
called in the evening, and unfolded to me the horrid tale of the 
salt fish and asses' milk. Oh, could the milky mother, who is so 
often insulted, so much despised and oppressed by man, have 
known his perverseness of appetite would have turned her salutary 
milk, the effect of prudent aud fit diet, into a kind of poison; 
how would she have animadverted upon the occasion ? I dare say 
she would have made better observations on the different powers 
of reason and instinct than have been made by any philosopher ou 



280 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

two legs. I wish I had her critique upon human reason, in black 
and white, with her modest apology for long ears and walking on 
four legs. I have just received Mr. Bower's third volume of the 
Popes, with so polite an Italian epistle, as shews he can play what 
note he pleases on Apollo's harp. I had the pleasure of seeing 
Mr. Berenger on Monday morning, he has been under discipline 
for his eyes, but his spirits and vivacity are not abated. Pray has 
Mr. Birch sent you his Queen Elizabeth % I have not seen it, and 
I know I shall read it with sorrow. A belle passion at three- 
score is worse than eating salt fish in the gout. I shall hate these 
collectors of anecdotes, if they cure one of that admiration of a 
great character that arises from a pleasing deception of sight. I 
desire you not to read aloud this part of Queen Bess's story, when 
the ass is at your door ; it would make a bad chapter for us in her 
history of human reason, sixty odd to twenty-one ! instinct never 
made such a blunder. An old woman and a young man, a sin 
against nature, an old queen and a young counsellor, a sin against 
politics and prudence. * Ambition should be made of sterner 
stufi".' I shall begin to believe Madame Scudery's romances, in 
which Lucretia is adroit at intrigue, the stern Brutus a whining 
lover, and Cato the censor admirable at writing the billet-doux. 
I cannot forgive Mr. Birch for bringing this story to light in such 
a manner; I supposed with Shakspeare that, in spite of Cupid's 
idle darts, * she pass'd on in maiden meditation fancy free.' T 
should have written to you before if I had not been in hopes Mr. 
Montagu's cold would have given me some room to flatter myself 
with a visit to Wickham. 



CLXX. 

Mrs, ElizdbetJi Montagu to Benjamin Stillingfleet. 

Beaufort Square, Bath : July 26, 1 757. 
And so, Sir, your pride and your vanity, and your laziness, 
and your indolence, and your indifference for your friends, have at 
length persuaded you, that you are not to write to me again, till I 
have thank'd you for those letters I have already received ! Small 
trust have you in my gratitude, if you require all bills drawn upon 
it should be paid at sight. Mr. Stillingfleet can write to me, and 
where is there a philosopher less desoeuvi-e than one who studies 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 281 

the infinite folios of divine wisdom, that reads the stars and can 
rightly spell of every herb that sips the dew 1 Why ! you do not 
perceive an eclipse of the sun unless, for want of light, you run 
your head against a post at noon -day; as for simples, I cannot say 
you are absolutely ignorant of those that are medicinal, I am sen- 
sible you make pretty good use of them, but I will be hang'd if 
you know how many leaves there are in a daisy, or how many 
fibres in the leaf of a pimpernel ; you are neither looking up at 
the stars nor down at the plants, and therefore why am I over- 
looked and forgotten % truly I believe, because you sit vis- ^- vis 
Mrs. Garrick ; but pray what business have you with Venus or the 
Graces, or anything so like them as the said Mrs. Garrick? I 
think X am a very pretty kind of a sickly woman, that look as if I 
had sometime had the jaundice, and as if I might sometime or 
another have it again ; and altogether a very proper subject for 
doctorship's admiration and meditation, and so. Sir, I expect some 
tokens of your attention by the next post. Have I not given you 
leave to entertain me out of any corner of your brain, and pro- 
mis'd to read with equal complaisance what your wisdom or your 
wit shall suggest, nay even what you may say in your foolishness, 
if your wit should be at low ebb % 

Whether you choose Cervantes' serious air, 
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair, 

write like the sage Charron or the fantastical Hudibras, I am still 
your gentle reader : and I have generally observed people of wit 
choose companions for their patient hearing, rather than their 
quick replyj and I imagined with such, the more one attended and 
the less one replied the better ; but since you will be answered, I 
must tell you why I have not sooner complied with that humour 
of yom's. I have been wandering from place to place ; I went to 
Windsor to make a visit to Mrs. Stanley, and there I spent some 
days very idly and very agreeably ; and I have been at this place 
ever since last Thursday, taking sweet counsel with my sister and 
Lady Bab Montagu, and in their company thinking but little of 
the absent. As to your request that you may send my letter to 
Mr. Affleck, permit me to say, no ; I am extremely pleased that 
he is partial enough to me to desire it, and, if he loves a little 
nonsense now and then for his recreation, why I own it a harmless 



282 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

thing, and I would not refuse your sending my letters merely 
because they are nonsensical ; but I have known such disagreeable 
things arise from a communication of private letters, that I beg to 
be excused ; there is so much envy, malice, and nonsense, in the 
world, that the most innocent amusement cannot escape ; some 
fool might know my letters were shewn Mr. Affleck ; that fool 
would tell another, who would report to a third fool, that I was 
vain of my letters, and loved to have them communicated ; and to 
what three fools assert some wise man would assent, and I should 
be ridiculous. One walks about in this world in as much danger 
and dread of ridicule as people do in some parts of America of the 
thread worm, which in spite of all care will imperceptibly get into 
the heel, and from thence poison the whole body. I had a letter 
from Mr. Stillingfleet yesterday, in which he speaks much of the 
virtues of Malvern waters, but does not tell me how they agree 
with him, which I take ill, for when can they have a subject of 
more worth to the world and to me % Mrs. Boscawen and a 
friend of hers will come to me at my return for a few days, and 
then my house will be pretty well filled. As soon as they leave 
me, I hope you will favour me with the performance of your 
promise. 

Ever your most obliged, 

E. Montagu. 



CLXXL 

In one of the most pleasing letters published in the ' Garrick 
Correspondence,' Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu pleads for assistance 
and advice for a young playwright. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu to David Garrick. 

Denton: July 24, 1770. 
Dear Sir, — The liberty I am going to take seems to require 
many apologies ; at the same time I am but too sensible that 
excuses are but poor alleviations of a fault. There is a certain 
quality called by the Gods simplicity, by men foolishness which 
sometimes betrays the owner into transgressions for which good- 
nature finds an excuse when the invention of the offender cannot 
frame one. Let my folly therefore find access to your good nature, 
and thus gently introduce my story. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 283 

A friend of mine who lias not a foot of land anywhere but in 
Parnassus, and there pretends not to more than a copyhold, showed 
me a comedy of his writing, which I thought might at least vie 
with most of the late productions in that way ; but I am a very 
incompetent judge of this matter. All I would beg is, that you 
would cast your eye over the piece. If you do not approve it, no 
angry female muse (such as once assailed you) armed with terrors 
which belong rather to Tisi phone than Melpomene, will rage and 
.foam. My friend is an honest peaceable man : if his play deserves 
your approbation, it will be a great piece of good fortune to him to 
have it under your protection, and will at once realize every good 
wish I can form for him.. Whatever you decide upon the subject 
I shall know is right and just. I am not perhaps a judge what 
should please in comedy and have not the least guess what will 
please. The dialogue of this play seemed to me easy and lively, 
and I thought the poet touched with good humoured raillery the 
fashionable follies of the times, which in themselves, though per- 
haps not in their consequences, appear too frivolous for severe 
satire. 

Great physicians have transmitted to posterity remedies for 
those disorders to which human nature is addicted in all ages and 
climates of the world ; but though an Hippocrates and a Galen 
may have assumed a perpetual authority in cases of consumption, 
dropsy and malignant fevers, the humble under-graduate doctor 
considers some new epidemical cold as his province, and hastens to 
publish his cure for Influenza, or to offer an antidote to Hyson 
tea ; advertises his balsam of honey when the fogs of November 
affect the lungs ; and as the spring advances, brings out his tinc- 
ture of sage to purify those humours that warm weather causes to 
ferment. 

To a Plautus, a Terence, or a Moliere, it belongs to attack the 
dropsy of pride, the feverish thirst of avarice, or the melancholy 
madness of misanthropy. The minor poet aims no higher than to 
remove some incidental malady, some new disorder with which 
the town is infected. Even if he can take off" those freckles which 
pollute the pure roses and lilies of youthful beauty, or can soften 
the wrinkles on the brow of old age, he has his merit and deserves 
encouragement. I wish you may have reason to think my friend 
de'serves a place in some of these humble classes. It is improper 



284 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

on some accounts that his name should be known, and therefore 
he desked me to send his piece with my petition that you should 
read it. As I endeavoured to smuggle a certain Essay through 
the world, you may perhaps suspect me of having a hand in this 
comedy ; but I do assure you, by all that is most serious, I have 
not therein either art or part ; I have not either invented or cor- 
rected, nor knew anything of it till it was almost finished. The 
author was to finish it after I came out of town, and I promised to 
send him a letter to you to send with it, which I did the more 
readily as he will remain to you mute and invisible ; and therefore 
you will have merely the trouble of casting your eye over the play, 
and when you have done so, if you please to send the play with 
your opinion of it to my house in Hill Street I shall be more 
obliged to you than I can express. Any alterations you should 
desire will certainly be made. Upon recollection, I will beg of you 
not to send yoar letter in the packet with the play but indeed to 
put the letter in the post directed to me at Denton ; for the person 
may otherwise delay my having your letter if he should not call at 
my house for his play. I shall be in great anxiety till I hear you 
forgive me the liberty I have taken. I was under very uncommon 
obligations to exert my endeavours to serve the author of this play; 
I promise you I will never again presume so far. I should be very 
unhappy if I thought my taking this liberty would lessen that 
friendship which I flatter myself Mr. and Mrs. Garrick have for 
one who has the highest esteem . for them. I live over again in 
imagination the charming day I passed at Hampton. May the 
muses, les jeux, and les ris, as usual, keep their court there, and 
health and pleasure never be absent even for an hour. With most 
perfect j-egard I am Dear Sir (fee 

E. Montagu. 

CLxxn. 

Dr. Fordyce, the dramatic critic, in a letter to David Gar- 
rick, narrates his impressions of that great actor s impersonation 
. of ' King Lear.' 

Dr. Fordyce to David Garrich. 

May 13, 17G3. 

Dr. Fordyce presents his best compliments to Mr. Garrick and 
begs to be indulged in the pleasure of telling that gentleman some 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 285 

part of what he felt the other night at Drury Lane. It is impos- 
sible to tell him all. 

He has seen ]\Ir. Garrick in his other characters with delight 
always, and with admiration as often as the author will let him. 
But in King Lear he saw him with rapture and astonishment. He 
could wish, he could imagine, nothing higher. It was Nature her- 
self wrought into a vast variety of the strongest, the tenderest, and 
the most terrible emotions, that ever agitated the breast of a 
fathfr and of a monarch. 

In my opinion, Sir, those who have not seen you in that won- 
derful part, are still strangers to the extent of your powers. They 
have not yet seen Mr. Garrick. It seems to me the character, of 
all others, that gives the noblest scope to the career and diversity 
of his genius. And I am much mistaken if, in the representation, 
be does not feel his soul expand with a freedom and fulness of 
satisfaction, beyond what he experiences in any other part. Such 
violent starts of amazement, of horror, of indignation, of paternal 
rage excited by filial ingratitude the most prodigious ; such a per- 
ceptible, yet rapid gradation, from these dreadful feelings to the 
deepest frenzy ; such a striking correspondence between the tempest 
in his mind and that of the surrounding elements. In the very 
whirlwind of passion and of madness, such an exact attention to 
propriety, that it is still the passion and the madness of a King. 
Those exquisite touches of self-reproach for a most foolish and ill- 
requited fondness to two worthless daughters, and for the greatest 
injustice and cruelty to one transcendently excellent. Those resist- 
less complaints of aged and royal wretchedness, with all the 
mingled workings of a warm and hasty, but well-meaning and gen- 
erous soul, just recovering from the convulsion of its faculties, 
through the pious care of a worthy, but injured child and follower ; 
till at length the parent, the'sovereign and the friend, shine out in 
the mildest majesty of fervent virtue, like the sun after a fearful 
storm, breaking forth delightfully in all the soft splendour of a 
summer evening. These, Sir, are some of the great circumstances 
which so eminently distinguished your action two nights ago. 
They possessed by tui'ns all your frame, and appeared successively 
in every word, and yet more in every gesture, but most of all in 
every look and feature ; presenting, I verily think, such a picture 
as the world never saw anywhere else ; yet such a one as all the 



2S6 ENGLISS LETTERS. [1700- 

world must acknowledo-e perfectly true, interesting, and un- 
affected. A very crowded audience gave the plainest proofs that 
they found it so. Even a French lady, if I mistook not the 
person, who has been used to all the polite frigidity of the French 
drama, was moved and melted in the most sensible manner. But 
what struck me most and will ever strike me on reflection, was 
the sustaining with full power, to the last, a character marked 
with the most diversified and vehement sensations, without even 
dejoarfcing once, so far as I could perceive, even in the quickest 
transitions and fiercest paroxysms, from the simplicity of nature, 
the grace of attitude or the beauty of expression. What I alone 
regretted was the blending of modern tragedy with the inimitable 
composition of your immortal Shakespeare. It was some comfort, 
however, that you had no share in the whining scene. 

I hope, Sir, you will forgive this freedom of praise, prompted 
as it is by pure esteem for the man whom forming Nature, without 
the least assistance from example, has been placed so high in his 
profession. I have said so much, not because I imagine that my 
single approbation can be of any consequence to Mr. Garrick, 
amidst the approbation of the public ; but merely to relieve myself 
in some measure from a load of sensibility with which King Lear 
has quite overwhelmed me. 

I am Sir, your most obedient servant 

J. FORDYCE. 

CLXXIII. 

A young artist who had described himself as engaged in 
dissensions with certain picture dealers at Rome who were en- 
deavouring to influence travellers against the English copyists, 
received this kind and excellent letter of advice from Sir Joshua 
Reynolds. 

Sir Joshua Reynolds to Mr. Barry. 

17G9. 

Dear Sir, — I am very much obliged to you for your remem- 
brance of me in your letter to Mr. Burke, which, though I have 
read with great pleasure as a composition, 1 cannot help saying 
with some regi-et, to find that so great a portion of your attention 
has been engaged upon temporary matters, which might be so 
much more profitably employed upon what would stick by you 
through your whole life. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 287 

Whoever is resolved to excel in painting, or indeed in any 
other art, must bring all his mind to bear upon that one object, 
from the moment he rises till he goes to bed ; the effect of every 
object that meets the painter's eye may give him a lesson, provided 
his mind is calm, unembarrassed with other objects, and open to 
instruction. This general attention, with other studies connected 
with the art, which must employ the artist in his closet, will be 
found sufficient to fill up life, if it was much longer than it is. 
Were I in your place, I would consider myself as playing a great 
game, and never suffer the little malice and envy of my rivals to 
draw off my attention from the main object ; which, if you pursue 
with a steady eye, it will not be in the power of all the Cicerones 
in the world to hurt you. Whilst they are endeavouring to pre- 
vent the gentlemen from employing the young artists, instead of 
injuring them, they are, in my opinion, doing them the greatest 
service. 

Whilst I was at Kome I was very little employed by them, 
and that I always considered as so much time lost. Copying those 
ornamental pictures, which the travelling gentlemen always bring 
home with them as furniture for their houses, is far from being the 
most profitable manner of a student spending his time. 

Whoever has great views I would recommend to him, whilst 
at Home, rather to live on bread and water, than lose those advan- 
tages which he can never hope to enjoy a second time, and which 
he will find only in the Vatican ; where, I will engage, no cavalier 
sends his students to copy for him. I do not mean this as any 
reproach to the gentlemen ; the works in that place, though they 
are the proper study of an artist, make but an awkward figure 
painted in oil, and reduced to the size of easel pictures. The 
Capella Sistina is the production of the greatest genius that was 
ever employed in the arts ; it is worth considering by what prin- 
ciples that stupendous greatness of style is produced ; and endea- 
vouring to produce something of your own on those principles, 
will be a more advantageous method of study, than copying the 
St. Cecilia in the Borghese, or the Herodias of Guido, which may 
be copied to eternity, without contributing one jot towards making 
a man a more able painter. 

If you neglect visiting the Vatican often, and particularly the 
Capella Sistina, you will neglect receiving that peculiar advantage 



288 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

whicli Rome can give above all other cities in the world. In other 
places you will find casts from the antique, and capital pictures of 
the gi^eat painters, but it is there only that you can form an idea 
of the dignity of the art, as it is there only that you can see the 
works of Michael Angelo and Raffaelle. If you should not relish 
them at first, which may probably be the case, as they have none 
of those qualities which are captivating at first sight, never cease 
looking till you feel something like inspiration come over you, till 
you think every other painter insipid, in comparison, and to be 
admired only for petty excellencies. 

I suppose you have heard of the establishment of a Royal 
Academy here ; the first opportunity I have I will send you the 
discourse I delivered at its opening, which was the first of January. 
As I hope you will be hereafter one of our body, I wish you would, 
as opportunity offers, make memorandums of the regulations of the 
academies that you may visit in your travels, to be engrafted on 
our own, if they should be found useful. I am, with the greatest 
esteem Yours 

J. Reynolds. 

CLXXIV. 

"William Pitt did not OTer-estimate the military qualities of the 
young Brigadier-General Wolfe when he selected him much out 
of the order of seniority to command an expedition having for its 
object to deprive France of her American settlements. Although 
untried in any considerable command Wolfe had the character 
of being a perfect soldier. He was a rigid disciplinarian, and 
was keenly devoted to military work at a time when sloth and 
debauchery were distinguishing features of the British officer's 
life ; for there was little doing between the peace of Aix-la- 
Chapelle and the outbreak of the Seven Years' War. 

When the first of the two following letters to his mother 
was written, he was Acting-Commander of the 20th Foot in 
Scotland, a Xvs ing position for a young man in his twenty-third 
year ; the second letter was written after the suppression of the 
■Gloucestershire riots, and at a time when he little expected to be 
so soon called to that glorious mission which cost him his life. 

Major James Wolfe to Mrs. Wolfe. 

Glasgow: October 2, 1749. 
Dear Madam, — It will not be possible in my circumstances to 
get leave of absence for four months ; we can expect no such indul- 
gence. A less time is not worth asking for, and therefore I'll pass 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 289 

the winter at Perth. I must hunt and shoot for exercise, and 
read for entertainment. After Christmas, when the company- 
comes into Edinburgh, and the place is in all its perfection of dirt 
and gaiety, I'll repair thither, and stay a fortnight or three weeks. 
It will help to dispel melancholy, and I have been told that a 
certain smell is a remedy for the vapours ; there I can't fail to 
meet the ciu*e. This day fortnight we leave this town, and till we 
return to it cannot hope to find so good quarters. According to 
.the rotation of the troops in Scotland, the sixth year brings us 
back ; but 'tis a dreadful interval, a little life to a military man ; 
and for my particular, so far from being in love with the country, 
that I'd go to the Bhine, or Italy, nay, serve a campaign against 
the Turks, rather than continue in it the time I have mentioned, 
and that, too, in the very blooming season of our days. It is my 
misfortune to miss the improving hour, and to degenerate instead 
of brightening. Few of my companions surpass me in common 
knowledge but most of them in vice. This is a truth that I should 
blush to relate to one that had not all my confidence, lest it be 
thought to proceed either from insolence or vanity ; but I think 
you don't understand it so. I dread their habits and behaviour, 
and am forced to an eternal watch upon myself, that I may avoid 
the very manner which I most condemn in them. Young men 
should have some object constantly in theii* aim, some shining 
character to direct them. 'Tis a disadvantage to be first at an 
imperfect age ; either we become enamoured with ourselves, seeing 
nothing superior, or fall into the degree of our associates. 

I'll stop here, that you may not think md very uneasy. As I 
now am, it is possible that I might be better pleased, but my duty 
and a natural indolence of temper make it less irksome ; and then 
a pretty constant employment helps to get me through, and secures 
me from excess or debauch. That, too, is enough prevented by 
the office of a Commander. 

My duty to my father. 

I am, dear madam 
Your obedient and afiectionate Son 
J. Wolfe. 



290 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CLXXV. 

Lieut. -Colonel James Wolfe to Mrs. Wolfe. 

Stroud : December C, 1756. 

Dear Madam, — I attribute it iii some measure to the nature of 
my employment as well as to tbe condition of my blood, being 
everlastingly chagrined with the ill actions of the people about me, 
and in the constant exercise of power to punish and rebuke. I 
pass so much of my time at quarters, and am so intent upon having 
everything done in its proper way, that those aids which an 
equality of society, the conversation of women, and the wholesome 
advice of friends are known to give to minds of my cast, are 
totally cut off from me and denied ; and if I was to serve two or 
three years in America I make no doubt but that I should be 
distinguished by a peculiar fierceness of temper suited to the nature 
of that war. I don't know whether a man had better fall early 
into the hands of those savages, than be converted by degi-ees into 
their nature and forget humanity. 

It may happen that a second battalion of those regiments may 
have colonels appointed to them without including your son in the 
number. A man who never asks a favour will hardly ever obtain 
it. I persuade myself they will put no inferior officer (unless a 
peer) over my head, in which case I can't complain, not being able 
to say that I have ever done more than my duty, and happy if I 
came up to that. If any soldier is preferred when my turn comes, 
I shall acquaint the Secretary at War that I am sensible of the 
injury that is done me, and will take the earliest opportunity to 
put it out of his or any man's power to repeat it. Not while the 
war lasts; for if 500 young officers one after another were to rise 
before me I should continue to serve with the utmost diligence, to 
acquit myself to the country, and to show the Ministers that they 
had acted unjustly. But I flatter myself that I shall never be 
forced to these disagreeable measures. 

I don't believe that Mrs. Goldsmith is dead, but dying. They 
are still at Kinsale, because she is not able to move ; for her desire 
was to be carried to die amongst her own relations. 

My cousin, whose good nature and gratitude are such that he 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 201 

can refuse nothing to a wife that he thinks deserves everything 
at his hands, had agreed to carry her to Limerick; but she had 
not strength for the journey, and I expect to hear everyday that 
she is at rest. I am afraid poor Goldsmith has been obliged to 
call in some expensive assistance, and therefore conclude that a 
present from the General would be acceptable. He has distin- 
guished himself by a most considerable regard for the poorer 
branches of his family, for which, I make no doubt but that he 
himself will be considered. All mankind are indeed our relations, 
and have nearly an equal claim to pity and assistance ; but those 
of our own blood call most immediately upon us. One of the 
principal reasons that induces me to wish myself at the head of a 
regiment is, that I may execute my father's plan while there 
remains one mdigent person of his race. 



CLXXVI. 

The present century has produced no John Wilkes hut only 
pinchbeck imitations of him. The witty and dissipated proprie- 
tor of the ' North Briton ' was a complete master of the science 
of demagogy ; and the absurdly impolitic and unconstitutional 
advisers of George III. provided him with the means of becom- 
ing a popidar idol. His talents and virtues were, however, not 
sufficiently solid to make him permanently superior to the vacil- 
lations and whims of the mob. The modern Wilkes, thirsting 
for notoriety, and having no sound cause to champion, tickles 
the ears of gaping masses with dishonest flattery. This letter 
is written after Wilkes had been discharged from the Tower on 
the ground of his Privilege as a Member of Parliament. The 
' general warrant ' under which he had been arrested for his 
libellous attack on the Ministry in No. 45 of the ' North Briton,' 
extended to the seizure of his private papers. He had ^vTit- 
ten demanding the restoration of the stolen r/oods, and had 
received a sharp rebuke from'the Secretaries of State to which 
this is the rejoinder. 



John Wilkes to Lords Egremont and Halifax (Secretaries of State.) 

Great George Street : May 29, 1763. 

IMy Lords, — Little did I expect, when I was requiring from 

your lordships what an Englishman has a right to, — his property 

taken from him (and said to be in your lordships' possession,) — 

that I should have received in answer, from persons in your high 



292 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

station, the expressions of ' indecent and scurrilous ' applied to 
my legal demands. 

The respect I bear to his majesty whose servants it seems you 
still are (though you stand legally convicted of having in me 
violated, in the highest and most offensive manner, the liberties of 
all the commons in England), prevents my returning you an answer 
in the same Billingsgate language. If I considered you only in 
your private capacities, I should treat you both according to your 
deserts : but where is the wonder that men who have attacked 
the sacred liberty of the subject, and have issued an illegal war- 
rant to seize his property, should proceed to such libellous expres- 
sions 1 You say, ' that such of my papers shall be restored to me, 
as do not lead to a proof of my guilt.' I owe this to your appre- 
hension of an action, not to jomv love of justice ; and in that light, 
if I can believe your lordships' assurances, the whole will be 
returned to me. I fear neither your prosecution, nor your perse- 
cution ; and I will assert the security of my own house, the liberty 
of my person, and every right of the people, not so much for my 
own sake, as for the sake of every one of my English fellow- 
subjects. 

I am, my lords, 

Your humble servant, 

John Wilkes. 



CLXXVII. 

If Wilkes had not set up a printing press in his own house, 
after his acquittal, it is tolerably certain his enemies would have 
failed to obtain evidence of his being either author or publisher 
of the ^ North Briton ' : yet he imprudently reprinted No. 45 
(and some copies of an infamous poem called ' Essay on 
Woman '), speculating on immense sales. But Government 
bribed the very persons he employed in Great George Street to 
appear as witnesses against him. The following letter from 
Paris, whither he had gone after his duel with Mr. Martin, 
shows that he considered his expulsion from Parliament as cer- 
tain. 

John Wilkes to Hu7nphrey Cotes. 

Hotel de Saxe, Paris: January 20, 1764. 

My Dearest Cotes, — Philipps writes to me in a warm strain, to 

return immediately ; and, from the partial view he takes of my 



♦ 



1800] ENGLISH LETIEBS. 293 

affairs, which is so far as law and the two houses are concerned, I 
really think him right. You and I, my beloved friend, have more 
extended views; and therefore, as I have now an opportunity, I 
will sift it to the bottom, for I am secure of my conveyance. 
Your letter of the 10th leaves me no doubt of the certainty of my 
expulsion. Now give me leave to take a peep into futurity. I 
argue upon the supposition that I was expelled this morning, at 
one or two o'clock, after a warm debate. I am, then, no longer a 
member of parliament. Of consequence, a political man not in the 
house is of no importance, and never can be well enough, nor 
minutely enough, informed, to be of any great service. 

"What then am I to do in England % If I return soon, it is 
possible that I may be found guilty of the publication of No. 45 
of the ' North Briton,' and of the ' Essay on Woman.' I must then 
go off to France ; for no man in his senses would stand Mansfield's 
sentence upon the publisher of a paper declared by both houses of 
parliament scandalous, seditious, &c. The ' Essay on "Woman,* too, 
would be considered as blasphemous ; and Mansfield would, in 
that case, avenge on me the old Berwick grudge. Am I then to 
run the risk of this, and afterwards to confess by going away so 
critically — as evident a flight as Mahomet's was from Mecca % 
Surely not. 

But I am to await the event of these two trials ; and Philipps 
can never persuade me that some risk is not run. I have in my 
own case experienced the fickleness of the people. I was almost 
adored one week ; the next, neglected, abused, and despised. With 
all the fine things said and wrote of me, have not the public to this 
moment left me in the lurch, as to the expense of so great a variety 
of law-suits % I will serve them to the last moment of my life ; 
but I will make use of the understanding God has given me, 
and will owe neither my security nor indemnity to them. Can 
I trust likewise a rascally court, who bribe my own servants to 
steal out of my house?- Which of the opposition, likewise, can 
call on me, and expect my services % I hold no obligation to any 
of them, but to Lord Temple; who is really a superior being. It 
appears, then, that there is no call of honour. I will now go on 
to the public cause, that of every man, — liberty. Is there thon 
any one point behind to be tried % I think not. The two important 
decisions in the Court of Common-Pleas and at Guildhall, have 
14 



294 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

securecl for ever an EnglisTiman's liberty and property. They have 
grown out of my firmness, and the affair of the ' North Briton ; ' 
but neither in this case are we nor our posterity concerned whether 
John Wilkes, or John a Nokes, wrote or published the ' North 
Briton ' or * the Essay on Woman/ 

The public, theo, has no call upon me. I have steadily pur- 
sued theii' object, and I may now, after all their huzzas, fall back 
into the mass of common citizens. Does any one point suffer by 
my absence 1 I have not heard that it does. I know that many 
of the opposition are, to the full, as much embarrassed about my 
business as the administration, and detest it as much. I believe, 
both parties will rejoice at my being here. Too many personalities, 
likewise, have been mixed with my business, and the King him- 
self has taken too great, not to say too indecent, a share in it, to 
recede. Can it be thought, too, that the princess dowager can ever 
forgive what she supposes I have done 1 What then am . I to 
expect if I return to England 1 Persecution from my enemies ; 
coldness and neglect from friends, except such noble ones as you 
and a few more. I go on to some other things. 

My private finances are much hurt, by three elections,; one at 
Berwick, and two at Aylesbury. Miss Wilkes's education is 
expensive. I can live here much cheaper than in London. And 
what is my duty, and you know is the object I have most at heart, 
her w^elfare,, will be better, in every point, ascertained here, with 
me, than at London. Shall I return to Great George-street, and 
live at so expensive a house % Forbid it real economy, and forbid 
it pride, to go to another, unless for some great national point of 
liberty ! Perhaps, in the womb of fate, some important public or 
private event is to turn up. A lucky death often sets all right. 
Mrs. Mead and Mr. Sherbrooke are both old, and have no relation 
but Miss Wilkes. She is devoted to me, beyond what you can 
imagine ; and is really all that a fond father can wish. I have 
taken all possible care of hei- in every respect. I could live here 
as well as I wish, for one half of what it will cost me in London ; 
and, when Miss Wilkes was of an age to return to England, not a 
farthing in debt — which at present oj)presses my spirits. I am 
grown prudent, and will be economical to a great degree. 

If government means peace or friendship with me, and to save 
their honour (wounded to the quick by Webb's affair), I then 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 295 

breathe no longer hostility. And, between ourselves, if they would 
send me ambassador to Constantinople it is all I should wish. Mr. 
Grenville, I am told, solicits his recall. I think, however, the 
King can never be brought to this, (as to me I mean,) though the 
ministry would wish it. 

Tf I stay at Paris, I will not be forgot in England ; for I will 
feed the papers, from time to time, with gall and vinegar against 
the administration. I cannot express to you how much I am 
.courted here, nor how pleased our inveterate enemies are with the 
* North Briton.' Gay felt the pulse of the French ministers about 
my coming here and Churchill's, upon the former report. The 
answer was sent from the Duke de Praslin, by the King's orders, to 
monsieur St. Foy, premier commis des affaires etrangeres, in these 
words : ' Les deux illustres J. W. et C. C. peuvent venii* en France 
et a Paris aussi souvent et pour autant de tems, qu'ils le jugeront 
a propos, &c.' 

I am offered the liberty of printing here whatever I choose. 
I have taken no resolution ; nor will I, till I hear again from you. 
Favour me with your sentiments fully and freely. 

Your most devoted 

John "Wilkes. 

CLXXVIII. 

At the close of 1758, Oliver Goldsmith, then at the very 
lowest ebb of fortune, failed to pass bis examination at Surgeon's 
Hall, and was thrown on the world at the age of tbhty with 
notbing whatever to do for a living. At this moment his land- 
• lady came to bim with a piteous tale of her distress, and the im- 
petuous poet, having no money, gave her forthwith bis new suit 
of clothes to pawn. Unfortunately these had been lent bim by 
Griffith the publisber, who seems to have found out the circum- 
stance directly, and who indulged bis temper by callino- Goldsmith 
a knave and a sharper, and by threatening to send bim to prison, 

Oliver Goldsmith to Mr, Griffith. 

January, 1759. 
Sir, — I know of no misery but a jail to which my own 
imprudences and your letter seems to point. I have seen it in- 
evitable these three or four w^eeks, and, by heavens ! request it as 
a favor, — as a favor that may prevent something more fatal. I 
have been some years struggling with a wretched being — with all 



29G ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

th at contempt that indigence brings with it — with all those pas- 
sions which make contempt insupportable. What, then, has a 
jail that is formidable'? I shall at least have the society of 
wretches, and such is to me true society. I tell you, again and 
again, that I am neither able nor willing to pay you a farthing, 
but I will be punctual to any appointment you or the Jailor shall 
make ; thus far, at least, I do not act the sharper, since, unable to 
pay my own debts one way, I would generally give some security 
another. No, sir ; had I been a sharper — had I been possessed of 
less good-nature and native generosity, I might surely now have 
been in better circumstances. 

I am guilty, I own, of meannesses which jDoverty unavoidably 
brings with it : my reflections are filled with repentance for my 
imprudence, but not with any remorse for being a villain : that 
may be a character you unjustly charge me with. Your books, I 
can assure you, are neither pawned nor sold, but in the custody of 
a friend, from whom my necessities obliged me to borrow some 
money. Whatever becomes of my person, you shall have them in 
a month. It is very pof.sible both the reports you have heard and 
your own suggestions may have brought you false information 
with respect to my character; it is very possible that the man 
whom you now regard with detestation may inwardly burn with 
grateful resentment. 

It is very possible that, upon a second perusal of the letter I 
sent you, you may see the workings of a mind strongly agitated 
with gratitude and jealousy. If such circumstances should appear, 
at least spare invective till my book with Mr. Dodsley shall be 
published, and then, perhaps, you may see the bright side of a 
mind, when my professions shall not appear the dictates of neces- 
sity, but of choice. 

You seem to think Dr. Milner knew me not. Perhaps so; 
but he was a man I shall ever honor ; but I have friendships only 
with the dead ! I ask pardon for taking up so much time ; nor 
shall I add to it by any other professions than that I am, sir jo\xr 
humble servant, 

Oliver Goldsmith. 

P.S. — I shall expect impatiently the result of your resolutions. 



1800] ENGLISH LETIERS. 297 



CLXXIX. 

In estimating the character of Goldsmith, we gain much by 
considering Avhat the stock was from v/hich he sprang. (Com- 
pared with some of his relations, the eccentric poet was a model 
of social stability. We see him in this highly characteristic 
letter freely giving up to his family the small legacy of fifteen 
pounds left him by his uncle Contarine ; it was but a drop among 
all those thirsty souls. No wonder Goldsmith was in no haste 
to return to his native country. 

Oliver Goldsm'th to Jfaui-ice Goldsmith. 

January, 1770. 

Dear Brother, — I should have answered your letter sooner, 
but, in truth, I am. not fond of thinking of the necessities of those 
I love, when it is so very little in my power to help them. I am 
sorry to find you are every way unprovided for ; and what adds to 
my uneasiness is, that I have received a letter from my sister 
Johnson by which I learn that she is pretty much in the same 
circumstances. As to myself, I believe I think I could get both 
you and my poor brother-in-law something like that which you 
desire, but I am determined never to ask for little things, nor 
exhaust any little interest I may have, until I can serve you, him 
and myself more eflfectually. As yet, no opportunity has offered ; 
but I believe you are pretty well convinced that I will not be 
remiss when it arrives. 

The King has lately been pleased to make me professor of 
Ancient History in the royal academy of painting which he has 
just established, but there is no salary annexed; and I took it 
rather as a compliment to the institution than any benefit to 
myself. Honors to one in my situation are something like ruffles 
to one that wants a shirt. 

You tell me that there are fourteen or fifteen pounds left me in 
the hands of my couslq Lawder, and you ask me what I would 
have done with them. My dear brother, I would by no means 
give any directions to my dear worthy relations at Kilmore how 
to dispose of money which is, properly speaking, more theirs than 
mine. All that I can say is, that I entirely, and this letter will 
serve to witness, give up any right and title to it ; and I am sure 



298 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

they will dispose of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely 
leave it ; whether they or you may think the whole necessary to 
fit you out, or whether our poor sister Johnson may not want the 
half, I leave entirely to their and your discretion. The kindness 
of that good couple to our shattered family demands our sincerest 
gratitude ; and, though they have almost forgotten me, yet, if good 
things at last arrive, I hope one day to return and increase their 
good-humour by adding to my own. 

I have sent my cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as 
I believe it is the most acceptable present I can offer. I have 
ordered it to be left for her at George Faulkner's, folded in a 
letter. 

The face you well know is ugly enough, but it is fi.nely painted. 
I will shortly also send my friends over the Shannon some mezzo- 
tint prints of myself, and some more of my friends here, such as 
Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and Colman. I believe I have written 
a hundred letters to different friends in your country, and never 
received an answer to any of them. I do not know how to 
account for this, or why they are unwilling to keep up for me 
those regards which I must ever retain for them. 

If, then, you have a mind to oblige me, you will write often, 
whether I answer you or not. Let me particularly have the news 
of our family and old acquaintances. For instance, you may 
begin by telling me about the family where you reside, how they 
spend their time, and whether they ever make mention of me. 
Tell me about my mother, my brother Hodson and his son, my 
brother Harry's son and daughter, my sister Johnson, the family 
of Ballyoughter, what is become of them, where they live, and 
how they do. You talked of being my only brother. I don't 
understand you. Where is Charles ? A sheet of paper occasion- 
ally filled with the news of this kind would make me very happy, 
and would keep you nearer my mind. As it is, my dear brother, 
believe me to be 

Yours, most affectionately, 

Oliver Goldsmith. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 290 



CLXXX. 

Goldsmitli liad l)een lodging at a little farm-liouse in 
Edgeware when lie wrote this letter, and the comedy so 
modestly referred to was no other than the immortal ' She Stoops 
to Conquer.' In March 1773 it was at last brought out at 
Covent Garden, and with amazing success. The difficulties that 
it met with from the timidity of Colman, the jealousy of Cum- 
berland, and the unworldliness of the author himself, are now 
matter of history, and the comedy itself uniyersally recognised 
as the best English play of that century. 

Oliver Goldsmith to Bennet Langton. 

The Temple : September 7, 1772. 
My dear Sir, — Since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, I 
have been almost wholly in the country, at a farmer's house, quite 
alone, trying to write a comedy. It is now finished ; but when or 
how it will be acted, or whether it w^ill be acted at all, are 
questions I cannot resolve. I am therefore so much employed 
upon that, that I am under the necessity of putting off my in- 
tended visit to Lincolnshire for this season. Keynolds is just 
returned from Paris, and finds himself now in the case of a truant 
that must make uj:) for his idle time by diligence. AYe have 
therefore agreed to postpone our journey till next summer, when 
we hope to have the honor of waiting upon Lady Rothes and you, 
and staying double the time of our late intended visit. We often 
meet, and never without remembering you. I see Mr. Beauclerc 
very often both in town and country. He is now^ going directly 
forward to become a second Boyle : deep in chemistry and physics. 
Johnson has been down on a visit to a country parson, Doctor 
Taylor; and is returned to his old haunts at Mrs. Thrale's. 
Burke is a farmer, en attendant a better place ; but visiting about 
too. Every soul is visiting about and merry but myself. And 
that is hard too, as I have been trying these three months to do 
something to make peojjle laugh. There have I been strolling 
about the hedges, studying jests with a most tragical countenance. 
The Natural History is about half finished, and I will shortly 
finish the rest. God knows I am tired of this kind of finishing, 
which is but bungling work ; and that not so much my fault as 



P.OO ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

the fault of my scurvy circumstances. They begin to talk in town 
of the Opposition's gaining ground ; the cry of liberty is still as 
loud as ever. I have published, or Davies has published for me, 
an * Abridgment of the History of England,' for which I have been 
a good deal abused in the newspapers, for betraying the liberties 
of the people. God knows I had no thought for or against liberty 
in my head ; my whole aim being to make up a book of a decent 
size, that, as Squire Richard says, would do no harm to nobody. 
However, they set me down as an arrant Tory, and consequently 
an honest man. When you come to look at any part of it, you'll 
say that I am a sore Whig. God bless you, and with my most 
respectful compliments to her Ladyship, I remain, dear Sir, your 
most affectionate humble servant. 

Oliver Goldsmith. 

CLXXXI. 

Dr. Markham was Head Master at Westminster School at 
the time this letter was written. He was appointed to the See 
of Chester in 1771, and was translated to the Archbishopric of 
York five years afterwards. Edmund Barke was in his thir- 
tieth year, and about to enter the nursery of his political career 
as private secretary to Mr. Gerard Hamilton, Assistant Secretary 
for Ireland under the Lieutenancy of Lord Halifax. In this 
capacity Burke found better Aground to stand upon 'in his native 
city than Madrid could have afforded him. 

Dr. Markham to the Duchess of Queenshury. 

Westminster : September 25, 1759. 

Madam, — I must entreat your Grace's pardon for the trouble 
I am giving you. It is in behalf of a very deserving person, with 
whom J have long had a close friendship. My acquaintance with 
your Grace's sentiments and feelings persuades me, that I shall not 
want advocates when I have told you my story. 

The consulship at Madrid has been vacant these eight months. 
Lord Bristol is writing pressing letters to have a consul appointed. 
I am informed that the office lies so much out of the road of 
common applications, that it has not yet been asked for ; that it 
has been offered to some, who have declined it ; and that Mr. Pitt 
is actually at a loss for a proper person to appoint to it. . This has 
encouraged my friend to think of it. It so happens, that those who 
might serve him are mostly out of town. He expects, indeed, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 301 

lecommendations from some he has writ to. The warm part that 
I take in all his interests obliges me to avail myself of the honour 
I have of being known to your Grace, and to beg as much of your 
assistance with Mr. Pitt, as you think you can give me with pro- 
priety. It is time I should say who my friend is. His name is 
Edmund Burke. As a literary man he may possibly be not quite 
unknown to you. He is the author of a piece which imposed on 
the world as Lord Bolingbroke's, called, ' The Advantages of 
Natural Society,' and of a very ingenious book published last year, 
called, ' A Treatise on the Sublime and the Beautiful.' 

I must farther say of him, that his chief application has been 
to the knowledge of public business, and our commercial interests ; 
that he seems to have a most extensive knowledge, with extra- 
ordinary talents for business, and to want nothing but ground to 
stand upon to do his country very important serAdces. Mr. "Wood, 
the under-secretary, has some knowledge of him, and will, I am 
persuaded, do ample justice to his abilities and character. As for 
myself, as far as my testimony may serve him, I shall freely 
venture it on all occasions ; as I value him not only for his learn- 
ing and talents, but as being, in all points of character, a most 
amiable and most respectable man. 

I hope your Grace will forgive my taking up so much of your 
time. I am really so earnest in this gentleman's behalf, that if I 
can be instrumental in helping him T shall think it one of the 
most fortunate events of my life. I beg leave to trouble you with 
my compliments to the Duke; and am, wdth afresh remembrance 
of your many kindnesses, 

Your Grace's most obliged and most faithful servant, 

W. Markham. 



CLXXXII. 

Edmund Burke began his public career in 1759 as private 
secretary to AVilliam Gerard Hamilton (known as single-speech 
Hamilton, the Assistant Secretary for Ireland). In return for 
no little influence exerted in securing a pension of £300 per 
annum for Burke, Hamilton had the audacity to expect the pro- 
tege would gratefully abandon his life to him. It was not likely 
that Rurke would accept villein service under a feudal superior ; 
he threw up his annuitv and broke withhiy patron for ever. 
14* 



JC2 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



Edmund Burke to the Rigid Hon. William Gerard 
Hamilton. 

Februarj, 17Go. 

Dear Sir, — Your letter, which. I received about four o'clock 
yesterday, seemed not to have been written with an intention of 
being answered. However, on considering the matter this morn- 
ing, I thought it respectful to you, and, in a manner, necessary to 
myself, to say something to those heavy charges which you have 
made against me in our last conversations ; and which, with a 
polite acrimony in the expression, you have thought proper to 
repeat in your letter. 

I should, indeed, be extremely unhappy, if I felt any conscious- 
ness at all of that unkindness, of which you have so lively a sense. 
In the six years during which I have had the honour of being con- 
nected with you, I do not know that I have given you one just 
occasion of complaint ; and if all things have not succeeded every 
way to your wishes, I may a])peal to your own e:juity and candour 
whether the failure was owning to any thing wrong in my advice, or 
inattention in my conduct ; I can honestly affirm, and your heart 
will not contradict me, that in all cases I preferred your interest to 
my own. I made you, and not myself, the first object in every 
deliberation. I studied your advancement, your fortune, and your 
reputation in every thing, with zeal and earnestness; and some 
times with an anxiety, which has made many of my hours miser- 
able. Nobody could be more ready than I was to acknowledge 
the obligations I had io you ; and if I thought, as in some in- 
stances I did, and do still think, I had cause of dissatisfaction, I 
never expressed it to others, or made yourself uneasy about them. I 
acted in every respect, with a fidelity which, I trust, cannot be im- 
peached. If there be any part of my conduct in life, upon which I 
can look with entire satisfaction, it is my behaviour with regard to 
you. 

So far as to the past ; with regard to the present, what is 
that unkindness and misbehaviour of which you complain % My 
heart is full of friendship to you; and is there a single point 
which the best and most intelligent men have fixed, as a proof of 
friendship and gratitude, in which I have been deficient, or in 
which I threaten a failure ? What you blame is only this, that I 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 303 

will not consent to bind myself to you, for no less a term tlian my 
whole life, in a sort of domestic situation, for a consideration to be 
taken out of your private fortune; that is, to circumscribe my 
hopes, to give up even the possibility of liberty, and absolutely to 
annihilate myself for ever. I beseech you, is the demand, or the 
refusal, the act of unkindness % If ever such a test of friendship 
was proposed, in any instance, to any man living, I admit that my 
conduct has been unkind ; and, if you please, ungrateful. If I 
had accepted your kind offers, and afterwards refused to abide by 
the condition you annex to them, you then would have had a good 
right to tax me with unkindness. But what have I done, at the 
end of a very long, however I confess unprofitable, service, but to 
prefer my own liberty to the offers of advantage you are pleased to 
make me ; and, at the same time, to tender you the continuance 
of those services (upon which, partiality alone induces you to set 
any value) in the most disinterested manner, as far as I can do it, 
consistent with that freedom to which, for a long time, I have 
determined to sacrifice every consideration; and which I never 
gave you the slightest assurance that I had any intention to sur- 
render ; whatever my private resolves may have been in case an 
event had ha2:)pened, which (so far as concerns myself) I rejoice 
never to have taken place % You are kind enough to say, that you 
looked upon my friendship as valuable ; but hint that it has not 
been lasting. I really do not know when, and by what act, I 
broke it off. I should be wicked and mad to do it, unless you call 
that a lasting friendship, Avhich all mankind would call a settled 
servitude, and which no ingenuity can distinguish from it. Once 
more put yourself in my situation, and judge for me. If I have 
spoken too strongly, you will be so good to pardon a man on 
his defence, in one of the nicest questions to a mind that has any 
feeling. I meant to speak fully, not to offend. I am not used 
to defend my conduct; nor do I intend, for the futuie, to fall into 
so bad a habit I have been warmed to it by the imputation you 
threw on me ; as if I deserted you on account solely of your want 
of success. On this, however, I shall say nothing, because perhaps 
I should grow still warmer; and I would not drop one loose word 
which might mark the least disrespect, and hurt a friendship 
Avhich has been, and I flatter myself vvill be, a satisfaction and an 
honour to me. I beseech you that you will judge of me with a 



304 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

little impartiality and temper. I hope I have said nothing in our 
last interview which could urge you to the passion you speak of. 
If anything fell which was strong in the expression, I believe it 
was from you, and not from me, and it is right that I should hear 
more than I then heard. I said nothing, but what I took the 
liberty of mentioning to you a year ago, in Dublin : I gave you no 
reason to think I had made any change in my resolution. We, 
notwithstanding, have ever since, until within these few days pro- 
ceeded as usual. Permit me to do so again. No man living can 
have a higher veneration than I have, for your abilities ; or can 
set a higher value on your friendship, as a great private satisfac- 
tion, and a very honourable distinction. I am much obliged to 
you for the favour you intend me, in sending to me in three or 
four days (if you do not send sooner) ; when you have had time to 
consider this, matter coolly. I will again call at your door, and 
hope to be admitted ; I beg it, and entreat it. At the same time 
do justice to the single motive which I have for desiring this 
favour, and desiring it in this manner. I have not wrote all this 
tiresome matter, in hopes of bringing on an altercation in writing, 
which you are so good to me as to decline personally ; and which, 
in either way, I am most solicitous to shun. What I say is, on 
reviewing it, little more than I have laid before you in another 
manner. It certainly requires no answer. I ask pardon for my 
prolixity, which my anxiety to stand well in your opinion has 
caused. 



I am, with great truth, 
ionate and most 
humble servant 



Your most affectionate and most obliged 



Edm. Burke. 



CLXXXIII. 



The following very interesting correspondence, typical alike 
of the manner of Sir Philip Francis and Edmund Burke, refers 
to the intended publication of the ' Peflections on the French 
Pevolution.' The year 1790 produced nothing more startling; 
no less than 30,000 copies of the volume were sold before the 
first flash of public curiosity was satisfied. That the great 
AVhig statesman should have expressed more than ordinary 
anxiety at so terrible a crisis as the French Revolution, and that 
he should have been the first among the political chieftains of 
liis day to quail before its excesses is consistent with his impres- 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 305 

sionaWe and impetuous nature ; but no one anticipated he would 
have pushed his denunciation to so exaggerated a pitch as fairly 
to ruin the Whig party hy scaring the bulk of its members over 
to William Pitt's side of the House of Commons. 

Philip Francis to the Right Hon. Edmund Burke. 

February 19, 1790. 

My dear Mr. Burke, — I am sorry you should have had the 
trouble of sending for the printed paper you lent me yesterday, 
though I own I cannot much regret even a fault of my own that 
helps to delay the publication of that paper. I know with 
certainty that T am the only friend, and many there are, who 
ventures to contradict or oppose you face to face on subjects of this 
nature. They either care too little for you, or too much for them- 
selves, to run the risk of giving you immediate offence, for tha 
sake of any subsequent or remote advantage you might derive frooi 
it. But what they withhold from you, they communicate very 
liberally to me ; because they think, or pretend, that I have some 
influence over you, which I have not, but, which on the present 
occasion, I most devoutly wish I had. I am not afraid of exas- 
perating you against me, at any given moment ; because I know 
you will cool again, and place it all to the right account. 

It is the proper province, and ought to be the privilege of an 
inferior to criticise and advise. The best possible critic of the 
Iliad would be, ij^so facto, and by virtue of that very character, 
incapable of being the author of it. Standing, as I do, in this 
relation to you, you would renounce your superiority, if you refused 
to be advised by me. 

Waiving all discussion concerning the substance and general 
tendency of this printed letter, I must declare my opinion 
that what I have seen of it is very loosely put together. In point 
of writing, at least, the manuscript you showed me first, was much 
less exceptionable. Remember that this is one of the most singular, 
that it may be the most distinguished, and ought to be one of the 
most deliberate acts of your life. Your writings have hitherto 
been the delight and instruction of your own country. You now 
undertake to correct and instruct another nation, and your appeal, 
in effect, is to all Europe. Allowing you the liberty to do so in an 
extreme case, you cannot deny that it ought to be done with special 
deliberation in the choice of the topics, and with no less care and 



nOG ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

circnmspection in the use you make of them. Have you thoroughly 
considered whether it be worthy of Mr, Burke, — of a privy- 
counsellor, — of a man so high and considerable in the House of 
Commons as you are,— and hokling the station you have obtained 
in the opinion of the world, to enter into a war of pamphlets with 
Dr. Price '? If he answered you, as assuredly he will, (and so will 
many others,) can you refuse to reply to a person whom you have 
attacked ] If you do, you are defeated in a battle of your own 
provoking, and driven to fly from ground of your own choosing. 
If you do not, where is such a contest to lead you, but into a vile 
and disgraceful, though it were ever so victorious, an altercation? 
* Dii melioraj But if you will do it, away with all jest, and sneer, 
and sarcasm ; let everything you say be grave, direct, and serious. 
In a case so interesting as the errors of a great nation, and the 
calamities of great individuals, and feeling them so deeply as you 
l^rofess to do, all manner of insinuation is improper, all gibe ani 
nick-name prohibited. In my opinion, all that you say of the 
queen is pure foppery. If she be a perfect female character, you 
ought to take your ground upon her virtues. If she be tbe 
reverse, it is ridiculous in any but a lover, to place her' personal 
charms in opposition to her crimes. Eitber way, I know the 
argument must proceed upon a supposition ; for neither have you 
said anything to establish her moral merits, nor have her accusers 
formally tried and convicted her of guilt. On this subject, how- 
ever, you cannot but know that the opinion of the Avorld is not 
lately, but has been many years, decided. 

But in effect, when you assert her claim to protection and 
respect, on no other topics than those of gallantry, and beauty, 
and personal accomplishments, you virtually abandon the proof 
and assertion of her innocence, which you know is the point 
substantially in question. Pray, sir, how long have you felt your- 
self so desperately disposed to admire the ladies of Germany ? I 
despise and abhor, as much as you can do, all personal insult and 
outrage, even to guilt itself, if I see it, where it ought to be, 
dejected and helpless ; but it is in vain to expect that I, or any rea- 
sonable man, shall regret the sufferings of a Messalina, as I should 
those of a Mrs. Greive or a Mrs. Burke ; I mean all that is beautiful 
or virtuous amongst women. Is it nothing but outside ? Have 
they no moral minds % Or are you such a determined champion of 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 307 

beauty as to draw yonr sword in defence of any jade upon earth, 
provided she be handsome % Look back, I beseech you, and 
deliberate a httle, before you determine that this is an oflfice that 
perfectly becomes you. If I stop here, it is not for want of a 
multitude of objections. The mischief you are going to do your- 
self, is to my apprehension, palpable. It is visible. It will be 
audible. I snuff it in the wind. I taste it already. I feel it in 
every sense ; and so will you hereafter ; when, I vow to God, (a 
most elegant phrase,) it will be no sort of consolation for me to 
reflect that I cUd every thing in my power to prevent it. I wish 
you were at the devil for giving me all this trouble : and so fare- 
well. 

P. Feancis. 



CLXXXIV. 

The Eeply. 

The Right Hon. Edmund Burke to Philip Francis, 

Gerard Street : February 20, 1790. 

My dear Sb, — I sat up rather late at Carlton House, and on 
my return hither, I found your letter on my table. I have not slept 
since. You will, therefore, excuse me if you find anything con- 
fused, or otherwise expressed than I could wish, in speaking upon 
a matter which interests you from your regard to me. There 
are some things in your letter for which I must thank you ; there 
are others which I must answer ; — some things bear the mark 
of friendly admonition ; others bear some resemblance to the tono 
of accusation. 

You are the only friend T have who will dare to give me advice ; 
I mnst, therefore, have something terrible in me, which intimidates 
all others who know me from giving me the only unequivocal 
mark of their regard. Whatever this rough and menacing 
manner may be, I must search mj^self upon it ; and when I 
discover it, old as I am, I must endeavoiu' to correct it. I 
flattered myself, however, that you at least would not have thought 
my other friends j ustified in withholding from me their services of 
this kind. You certainly do not always convey to me your 
opinions with the greatest tenderness and management ; and yet I 
do not recollect, since I first had the pleasure of your acquaintance. 



308 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

that there has iDcen a heat or a coolness of a single day's duration, 
on my side, during that whole time. I believe your memory 
cannot present to you an instance of it. I ill deserve friends, if I 
thiow them away on account of the candour and simplicity of 
their good nature. In particular you know, that you have in 
some instances, favoured me with your instructions relative to 
things I was preparing for the public. If I did not in every 
instance agree with you, I think you had. on the whole sufficient 
proofs of my docility, to make you believe that I received your 
corrections, not only without offence, but with no small degree of 
gratitude. 

Your remarks upon the first two sheets of my Paris letter, relate 
to the composition and the matter. The composition, you say, is 
loose, and I am quite sure of it : — I never intended it should be 
otherwise. For, purporting to be, what in truth it originally 
was, — a letter to a friend, I had no idea of digesting it in a 
systematic order. The style is open to correction, and wants it. 
My natural style of writing is somewhat careless, and I should be 
happy in receiving your advice towards making it as little vicious 
as such a style is capable of being made. The general character 
and colour of a style, which grows out of the writer's peculiar 
turn of mind and habit of expressing his thoughts, must be 
attended to in all corrections. It is not the insertion of a piece 
of stuff, though of a better kind, which is at all times an improve- 
ment. 

Your main objections are, however, of a m.uch deeper nature, 
and go to the political opinions and moral sentiments of the piece, 
in which I find, though with no sort of surprise, having often 
talked with you on the subject, — that we differ only in every thing. 
You siy, ' the mischief you are going to do yourself, is to my 
apprehension palpable; I snuff it in the wind, and my taste 
sickens at it.' This anticipated stench, that turns your stomach at 
such a distance, must be nauseous indeed. You seem to think I 
shall incur great (and not AvhoUy undeserved) infamy, by this 
publication. This makes it a matter of some delicacy to me, to 
suppress what I have written ; for I must admit in my own 
feeliugs, and in that of those who have seen the piece, that my 
sentiments and opinions deserve the infamy with which they are 
threatened. If they do not, I know nothing more than that I ojDpose 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 309 

the prejudices and inclinations of many people. This, I was well 
aware of from the beginning, and it was in order to oppose those in- 
clinations and prejudices, that I proposed to publish my letter. I 
really am perfectly astonished how you could dream, with my 
paper in your hand, that I found no other cause than the beauty 
of the queen of France (now, I suppose, pretty much faded) for 
disapproving the conduct which has been held towards her, and 
for expressing my own particular feelings. I am not to order the 
natural sympathies of my own heart, and of every honest breast, to 
wait until all the jokes and all the anecdotes of the coffee-houses of 
Paris and of the dissenting meeting-houses of London, are scoured 
of all the slander of those who calumniate persons, that, afterwards, 
they may murder them with impunity. I know nothing of your 
story of Messalina. /Vm I obliged to prove juridically the virtues of 
all those I shall see suffering every kind of wrong, and contumely, 
and risk of life, before I endeavour to interest others in their suf- 
ferings — and before I endeavour to excite horror against midnight 
assassins at back-stairs, and their more wicked abettors in pul- 
pits ] "What ! — Are not high rank, great splendour of descent, 
great personal elegance and outward accomplishments, ingredients 
of moment in foi-ming the interest we take in the misfortunes of 
men? The minds of those who do not feel thus, are not even 
systematically right. * What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, 
that he should weep for her ? ' — Why, — because she was Hecuba, 
the queen of Troy — the wife of Priam, — and suffered, in the close 
of life, a thousand calamities ! I felt too for Hecuba, when I 
read the fine tragedy of Euripides upon her story ; and I never 
inquired into the anecdotes of the court or city of Troy, before I 
gave way to the sentiments which the author wished to inspire ; — 
nor do I remember that he ever said one word of her virtue. 
It is for those who applaud or palliate assassination, regicide, and 
base insult to women of illustrious place, to prove the crimes (in 
sufferings) which they allege, to justify their own. But if they 
have proved fornication on any such woman, — taking the manners 
of the world, and the mginners of France, — I shall never put it in 
a parallel with assassination ! — ISTo : I have no such inverted scale 
of faults in my heart or my head. 

You find it perfectly ridiculous, and unfit for me in ]3articular, 
to take these things as my ingredients of commiseration. Pray 



310 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

why is it absurd in me to think, that the chivalrous spirit which 
dictated a veneration for women of condition and of beauty, with- 
out any consideration whatever of enjoying them, was the great 
source of those manners which have been the pride and ornament 
of Europe for so many ages 1 And am I not to lament that I have 
lived to see those manners extinguished in so shocking a manner, 
by means of speculations of finance, and the false science of a 
sordid and degenerate philosophy ? I tell you again, — that the 
recollection of the manner in which I saw the queen of France, in 
the year 1774, and the contrast between that brilliancy, splendour, 
and beauty, with the prostrate homage of a nation to her, — and 
the abominable scene of 1789, which I was describing, — did draw 
tears from me and wetted my paper. These tears came again into 
my eyes, almost as often as I looked at the description ; — they 
may again. You do not believe this fact, nor that these are my 
real feelings ; but that the whole is affected, or, as you expi-ess it, 
downright foppery. My fiiend, — I tell you it is truth ; and that it 
is true, and will be truth, when you and I are no more ; and will 
exist as long as men with their natural feelings shall exist. I shall 
say no more on this foppery of mine. Oh ! by the way, you ask 
me how long I have been an admirer of German ladies ? Always 
the same. Present me the idea of such massacres about any 
German lady here, and such attempts to assassinate her, and such 
a triumphant procession from "Windsor to the Old Jewry, and I 
assure you, I shall be quite as full of natural concern and just 
indignation. 

As to the other points, they deserve serious consideration, and 
they shall have it. I certainly cannot profit quite so much by 
your assistance, as if we agreed. In that case, every correction 
would be forwarding the design. We should work with one 
common view. 

But it is impossible that any man can correct a work according 
to its true spirit, who is opposed to its object, or can help the 
expression of what he thinks should not be expressed at all. 

I should agree with you about the vileness of the controversy 
with such miscreants as the ' Revolution Society,' and the 
* National Assembly ; ' and I know very well that they, as well 
as their allies, the Indian delinquents, will darken the air with 
their arrows. But I do not yet think they have the advowson of 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 311 

reputation. I shall try that point. My dear Sir, you think of 
nothing but controversies : ' I challenge into the jS.elcl a battle, 
and retire defeated, &c.' If their having the last word be a defeat, 
they most assuredly will defeat me. But I intend no controversy 
with Dr. Price, or Lord Shelburne, or any other of their set. I 
mean to set in full view the danger from their wicked principles 
and their black hearts. I intend to state the true principles of 
our constitution in church and state, upon grounds opposite to 
theirs. If any one be the better for the example made of them, 
and for this exposition, well and good. I mean to do my best to 
expose them to the hatred, ridicule, and contempt of the whole 
world; as I always shall expose such calumniators, hypocrites, 
sowers of sedition, and approvers of murder and all its triumphs. 
When I have done that, they may have the field to themselves ; 
and I care A^ery little how they triumph over me, since I hope 
they will not be able to draw me at their heels, and carry my 
head in triumph on their poles. 

I have been interrupted, and have said enough. Adieu ! 
believe me always sensible of your friendship ; though it is im- 
possible that a greater difierence can exist on earth than, unfortu- 
nately for me, there is on those subjects, betweeen your sentiments 
and mine. Edm. Burke. 



CLXXXV. 

Some remarks Junius had made in his first letter reflecting on 
the conduct of the Oommander-in-Ohief, Lord Granhy, induced 
Sir William Draper to come forward in his lordship's defence, 
and a contest ensued. It soon degenerated into mere personali- 
ties, Junius charging Draper with selling his commission as 
Captain in the 16th Regiment for £200 a year, and with being 
in receipt of a salary as Governor of Yarmouth, though bound 
to take an oath as a half-pay officer that he was not holding any 
place of profit under the Crown. The following is an answer to a 
letter in which Draper denied the charge, angrily contending 
that the most virtuous man in the kingdom could not always 
answer to his conscience on every point. 

Junius to Sir William Draper. 

March 3, 1769. 

Sir, — An academical education has given you an unlimited 
command over the most beautiful figures of speech. Masks, 



312 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

hatchets, racks, and vipers dance through your letters in all the 
mazes of metaphorical confusion. These are the gloomy com- 
panions of a disturbed imagination ; the melancholy madness of 
poetry, without the inspiration. I will not contend with you in 
point of composition. You are a scholar, Sir William, and, if I 
am truly informed, you wiite Latin with almost as much purity as 
English. Suffer me then, for I am a plain unlettered man, to 
continue that style of interrogation, which suits my capacity, and 
to which, considering the readiness of your answers, you ought to 
have no objection. Even Mr. Bingley promises to answer, if put 
to the torture. Do you then really think that, if I were to ask a 
most virtuous man whether he ever committed theft, or murder, it 
would disturb his peace of mind ? Such a question might perhaps 
discompose the gravity of his muscles, but I believe it would little 
affect the tranquillity of his conscience. Examine your own 
breast, Sir Vv'illiam, and you will discover that reproaches and 
inquiries have no power to afflict either the man of unblemished 
integrity, or the abandoned profligate. It is the middle compound 
character which alone is vulnerable : the man, who, without firm- 
ness enough to avoid a dishonourable action, has feeling enough to 
be ashamed of it. I thank you for your hint of the Decalogue, 
and shall take an opportunity of applying it to some of your most 
virtuous friends in both houses of Parliament. 

You seem to have dropped the affair of your regiment ; so let 
it rest. When you are appointed to another, I dare say you will 
not sell it either for a gross sum, or for an annuity upon lives. 

I am truly glad (for really, Sir William, I am not your enemy, 
nor did I begin this contest with you,) that 'you have been able to 
clear yourself of a crime, though at the expense of the highest 
indiscretion. You say that your half-pay was given you by way 
of pension. I will not dwell upon the singularity of uniting in 
your own person two sorts of provision, which in their own 
nature, and in all military and parliamentary views, are incom- 
patible; but I call upon you to justify that declaration wherein 
you charge your sovereign with having done an act in your favour, 
notoriously against law. The half-pay, both in Ireland and Eng- 
land, is appropriated by Parliament ; and if it be given to persons 
who, like you, are legally incapable of holding it, it is a breach of 
law. It would have been more decent in you to have called this 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 313 

dishonourable transaction by its true name — a job to accommodate 
two persons, by particular interest and management at the Castle. 
What sense must Government have had of your services, when the 
rewards they have given you are only a disgrace to you ! 

And now, Sir William, I shall take my leave of you for ever. 
Motives very different from any apprehension of your resentment, 
make it impossible you should ever know me. In truth, you have 
some reason to hold yourself indebted to me. From the lessons I 
have given you, you may collect a profitable instruction for your 
future life. They will either teach you so to regulate your conduct 
as to be able to set the most malicious inquiries at defiance ; or, if 
that be a lost hope, they will teach you prudence enough not to 
attract the public attention to a character which will only pass 
without censure when it passes without observation. 



CLXXXVI. 

In reading this brilliant Philippic it should be borne in mind 
that the Duke of GraCton was at this time the mere tool of 
George III., and that the King was maddening the people by his 
insane obstinacy with regard to America, and by his setting 
up Luttrell in Wilkes' place as member for Middlesex. His 
Grace is here made the scapegoat of his Royal master's folly, 
and is contemplated as the worthy successor of the universally 
detested Bute. The Duke's frailties in private life are not for- 
gotten, and the fact of his being Chancellor of the University of 
Cambridge — the profligate Sandwich being High Steward — 
furnishes Junius with the reflections which conclude the 
letter. 

Junius to the Duke of Grafton. 

July 8, 1769. 

My Lord, — If nature had given you an understanding qualified 
to keep pare with the wishes and principles of your heart, she 
would have made you, perhaps, the most formidable minister that 
ever was employed under a limited monarch to accomplish the 
ruin of a free people. 

When neither the feelings of shame, the reproaches of con- 
science, nor the dread of punishment, form any bar to the designs 
of a minister, the people would have too much reason to lament 
their condition, if they did not find some resource in the weakness 
of his understanding. We owe it to the bounty of Providence, 



314 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

that the completest depravity of the heart is sometimes strangely 
united with a confusion of the mind which counteracts the most 
favouiite principles, and makes the same man treacherous without 
art, and a hypocrite without deceiving. The measures, for in- 
stance, in which your Grace's activity has been chiefly exerted, as 
they were adopted without skill, should have been conducted with 
more than common dexterity. But truly, my Lord, the execution 
has been as gross as the design. By one decisive step you have 
defeated all the arts of writing. You have fairly confounded the 
intrigues of opposition, and silenced the clamours of faction. A 
dark, ambiguous system might require and furnish the materials 
of ingenious illustration ; and, in doubtful measures, the virulent 
exaggeration of party must be employed to rouse and engage the 
passions of the people. You have now brought the merits of your 
administration to an issue on which every Englishman of the 
narrowest capacity may determine for himself. It is not an alarm 
to the passions, but a calm appeal to the judgment of the people 
upon their own most essential interests. A more experienced 
minister would not have hazarded a direct invasion of the first 
principles of the constitution before he had made some progress in 
subduing the spirit of the people. With such a cause as yours, my 
Lord, it is not sufficient that you have the court at your devotion 
unless you can find means to corrupt or intimidate the jury. ' The 
collective body of the people form that jury, and from theii' decision 
there is but one appeal. Whether you have talents to support 
you at a crisis of such difficulty and danger should long since have 
been considered. Judging truly of your disposition, you have, 
perhaps, mistaken the extent of your capacity. Good faith and 
folly have so long been received for synonymous terms, that the 
reverse of the proposition has grown into credit, and every villain 
fancies himself a man of abilities. It is the apprehension of your 
friends, my Lord, that you have drawn some hasty conclusion of 
this sort, and that a partial reliance upon your moral character 
has betrayed you beyond the depth of your understanding. You 
have now carried things too far to retreat. You have plainly 
declared to the people what they are to expect from the continuance 
of your administration. It is time for your Grace to consider what 
you also may expect in return from their spirit and their resent- 
ment. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 315 

Since the accession of our most gracious sovereign to the throne 
we have seen a system of government which may well be called a 
reign of experiments. Parties of all denominations have been 
employed and dismissed. The advice of the ablest men in this 
country has been repeatedly called for and rejected ; and when the 
royal displeasure has been signified to a minister, the marks of it 
have usually been proportioned to his abilities and integrity. The 
spirit of the Favourite had some apparent influence upon eveiy 
administration; and every set of "ministers preserved an appearance 
of duration, as long as they submitted to that influence. But there 
were certain services to be performed for the favourite's security, 
or to gratify his resentments, which your predecessors in ofiice had 
the wisdom or the virtue not to undertake. The moment this 
refractory spirit was discovered their disgrace was determined. 
Lord Chatham, Mr. Grenville, and Lord Rockingham have suc- 
cessively had the honour to be dismissed for preferring their duty 
as servants of the public to those compliances which were ex- 
pected from their station. A submissive administration was at 
last gradually collected from the deserters of all parties, interests, 
and connections ; and nothing remained but to find a leader for 
these gallant well-disciplined troops. Stand forth, my Lord, for 
thou art the man. Lord Bute found no resource of dependence of 
security in the proud, imposing superiority of Lord Chatham's 
abilities, the shrewd, inflexible judgment of Mr. Grenville, nor in 
the mild but determined integrity of Lord Rockingham. His 
views and situation required a creature void of all these properties ; 
and he was forced to go through every division, resolution, com- 
position, and refinement of political chemistry, before he happily 
arrived at the caput mortuum of vitriol in your Grace. Flat and 
insipid in your retired state, but, brought into action, you become 
vitriol again. Such are the extremes of altei-nate indolence or 
fury which have governed your whole administration. Your 
circumstances with regard to the people soon becoming desperate, 
like other honest servants you determined to involve the best of 
masters in the same dijQficulties with yourself. We owe it to your 
Grace's well-directed labours, that your sovereign has been per- 
suaded to doubt of the affections of his subjects, and the people to 
suspect the virtues of their sovereign, at a time when both were 
vmquestionable. 



316 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

You have degraded the royal dignity into a base, dishonourable 
competition with Mr. Wilkes, nor had you abilities to carry even 
this last contemptible triumph over a private man, without the 
grossest violation of the fundamental laws of the constitution and 
the rights of the people. But these are rights, my Lord, which 
you can no more annihilate than you can the soil to which they 
are annexed. The question no longer turns upon points of 
national honour and security abroad, or on the degrees of expe- 
dience and propriety of measures at home. It was not inconsistent 
that you should abandon the cause of liberty in another country, 
which you had persecuted in your own ; and in the common arts 
of domestic corruption, we miss no part of Sir Robert Walpole's 
system except his abilities. In this humble imitative line you 
might long have proceeded, safe and contemptible. You might, 
probably, never have risen to the dignity of being hated, and even 
have been despised with moderation. But it seems you meant to 
be distinguished, and, to a mind like yours, there was no other 
road to fame but by the destruction of a noble fabric, which you 
thought had been too long the admiration of mankind. The use 
you have made of the military force introduced an alarming change 
in the mode of executing the laws. The arbitrary appointment of 
Mr, Luttrell invades the foundation of the laws themselves, as it 
manifestly transfers the right of legislation from tho«e whom the 
people have chosen to those whom they have rejected. With a 
succession of such appointments we may soon see a House of 
Commons collected, in the choice of which the other towns and 
counties of England will have as little share as the devoted county 
of Middlesex. 

Yet, I trust, your Grace will find that the people of this 
country are neither to be intimidated by violent measures, nor 
deceived by refinements. When they see Mr. Luttrell seated in 
the House of Commons by mere dint of power, and in direct 
opposition to the choice of a whole county, they will not listen to 
those subtleties by which every arbitrary exertion of authority is 
explained into the law and privilege of Parliament. It requires 
no persuasion of argument, but simply the evidence of the senses, 
to convince them that to transfer the right of election from the 
collective to the representative body of the people contradicts all 
those ideas of a House of Commons which they have received from 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 317 

their forefathers, and whicli they have already, though, vainly 
perhaps, delivered to their children. The principles on whicli this 
violent measure has been defended, have added scorn to injury, 
and forced us to feel that we are not only oppre'ssed but insulted. 

With what force, my Lord, with what protection, are you 
prepared to meet the united detestation of the people of England ? 
The city of London has given a generous example to the kingdom 
in what manner a king of this country ought to be addressed ; and 
I fancy, my Lord, it is not yet in your courage to stand between 
your sovereign and the addresses of his subjects. The injuries 
you have done this country are such as demand not only redress 
but vengeance. In vain shall you look for protection to that 
venal vote which you have already paid for — another must be 
purchased ; and to save a minister, the House of Commons must 
declare themselves not only independent of their constituents, but 
the determined enemies of the constitution. Consider, my Lord, 
whether this be an extremity to which their fears will permit 
them to advance, or, if their protection should fail you, how far 
you are authorized to rely upon the sincerity of those smiles which 
a pious court lavishes without reluctance upon a libertine by pro- 
fession. It is not, indeed, the least of the thousand contradictions 
wjiich attend you, that a man, marked to the world by the 
grossest violation of all ceremony and decorum, should be the first 
servant of a court in which prayers are morality and kneeling is 
religion. Trust not too far to appearances by which your prede- 
cessors have been deceived, though they have not been injured. 
Even the best of princes may at last discover that this is a conten- 
tion in which everything may be lost but nothing can be gained ; 
and, as you became minister by accident, were adopted without 
choice, trusted without confidence, and continued without favour,- 
be assured that, whenever an occasion presses, you will be dis- 
carded without even the forms of regret. You will then have 
reason to be thankful if you are permitted to retire to that seat of 
learning which, in contemplation of the system of youi* life, the 
comparative purity of your manners with those of their high 
steward, and a thousand other recommending circumstances, has 
chosen you to encourage the growing virtue of their youth, and to 
preside over their education. Whenever the spirit of distributing 
prebends and bishopricks shall have departed from you, you will 
15 



318 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

find that learned seminary perfectly recovered from the delirium 
of an installation, and, what in truth it ought to be, once more a 
peaceful scene of slumber and thoughtless meditation. The vener- 
able tutors of the university will no longer distress your modesty 
by proposing you for a pattern to their pupils. The learned 
dulness of declamation will be silent ; and even the venal muse, 
though happiest in fiction, will forget your virtues. Yet, for the 
benefit of the succeeding age, I could wish that your retreat might 
be deferred until your morals shall happily be ripened to that 
maturity of corruption at which the worst examples cease to be 
contagious. 

^ Junius. 

CLXXXVII. 

Those to whom the name of Cowper has hitherto only sug- 
gested a sour and insane bigot, will he surprised to read those 
whimsical and tenderly humorous letters in which he has en- 
shrined the sweetness of his timid nature. 

From his hermitage among the sedgy brooks of Olney he 
long continued to remind his friends that the most retired and 
melancholy of men was a scholar, a bright companion, and, 'para- 
doxical as it may seem, on all points but one a very shrewd 
man of the world. 

• 
William Coviinr to Clotworthey Rowley. 

September 2, 1762. 
Dear E-owley, — Yoiu' letter has taken me just in the crisis; to- 
morrow I set off for Brighthelmston, and there I stay till the 
winter brings us all to town again. This world is a shabby fellow, 
and uses us ill ; but a few years hence there will be no difference 
between us and our fathers of the tenth generation upwards. I 
could be as splenetick as you, and with more reason, if I thought 
proper to indulge that humour ; but my resolution is, (and I would 
advise you to adopt it,) never to be melancholy while I have a 
hundred pounds in the world to keep up my spirits. God knows 
how long that will be ; but in the mean time lo Triumphe ! If a 
great man struggling with misfortunes is a noble object, a little 
man that despises them is no contemptible one ; and this is all the 
philosophy I have in the world at present. It savours pretty 
much of the ancient stoic; but till the stoics became coxcombs, 
they were, in my opinion, a very sensible sect. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTEBS. 319 

If my resolution to be a great man was half so strong as it is to 
despise the shame of being a little one, I should not despair of a 
house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, with all its appurtenances ; for 
there is nothing more certain, and I could prove it by a thousand 
instances, than that every man may be rich if he will. What is 
the industry of half the industrious men in the world but avarice, 
and call it by which name you will, it almost always succeeds. 
But this provokes me, that a covetous dog who will work by 
candlelight in a morning, to get what he does not want, shall be 
praised for his thriftiness, while a gentleman shall be abused for 
submitting to his wants, rather than work like an ass to relieve 
them. Did you ever in your life know a man who was guided in 
the general course of his actions by any thing but his natural temper % 
And yet we blame each other's conduct as freely as if that temper 
was the most tractable beast in the world, and we had nothing to 
do but to twitch the rein to the right or the left, and go just as 
we are directed by others ! All this is nonsense, and nothing better. 
There are some sensible folks, who having great estates have wisdom 
enough too to spend them properly ; there are others who are not 
less wise, perhaps, as knowing how to shift without 'em. Between 
these two degrees are they who spend their money dirtily, or get 
it so. If you ask me where they are to be placed who amass much 
wealth in an honest way, you must be so good as to find them 
first, and then I'll answer the question. Upon the whole, my dear 
Bowley, there is a degree of poverty that has no disgrace belonging 
tD it; that degree of it, I mean, in which a man enjoys clean linen 
and good company ; and if I never sink below this degi*ee of it, I 
care not if I never rise above it. This is a strange epistle, nor can 
I imagine how the devil I came to write it : but here it is, such as 
it is, and much good may it do you with it. 

I have no estate, as it happens, so if it should fall into bad 
hands, I shall be in no danger of a commission of lunacy. Adieu ! 
Carr is well, and gives his love to you. 

Yours ever, 

Wm. Cowper. 



320 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CLXXXVin. 

The following letter -^as written in the happy period that 
succeeded the first serious attack of insanity at Olney. 

William Cowper to Joseph Hill. 

July 8, 1780. 
Mon Ami, — If you ever take the tip of the Chancellor's ear 
between your finger and thumb, you can hardly improve the 
opportunity to better purpose, than if you should whisper into it 
the voice of compassion and lenity to the lace- makers. I am an 
eye-witness of their poverty, and do know that hundreds in this 
little town are upon the point of starving, and that the most unre- 
mitting industry is but barely sufficient to keep them from it. I 
know that the Bill by which they w^ould have been so fatally 
affected is thrown out : but Lord Stormont threatens them with 
another ; and if another like it should pass, they are undone. We 
lately sent a petition from hence to Lord Dartmouth ; I signed it, 
and am sure the contents are true. The purport of it was to 
inform him that there are very near one thousand two hundred 
lace-makers in this beggarly town, the most of whom had reason 
enough while the Bill was in agitation, to look ujDon every loaf 
they bought as the last they should ever be able to earn. I can 
never think it good policy to incur the certain inconvenience of 
ruining thirty thousand, in order to prevent a remote and possible 
damage though to a much greater number. The measure is like a 
scythe, and the poor lace-makers are the sickly crop that trembles 
before the edge of it. The prospect of peace with America is like 
the streak of dawn in their horizon ; but this Bill is like a black 
cloud behind it, that threatens their hope of a comfortable day with 
utter extinction. I chd not perceive till this moment, that I had 
tacked two similes together ; a practice which, waixanted by the 
example of Homer, and allowable in an epic poem, is rather luxu- 
riant and licentious in a letter : lest I should add another, I 
conclude. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 321 



CLXXXIX. 

In the elegant fluency of his humorous verse Cowper ap- 
proaches the golden style of Goldsmith. The eighteenth cen- 
tury, however, had taken out a patent for occasional poetry, 
and even third-rate hards like Lloyd and Anstey gave their 
social numhers a grace that we must he content to envy, 

William Cowper to Mrs. Newton. 

September 16, 1781. 
A Noble theme demands a noble verse, 
In such I thank you for your fine oysters, 
The barrel was magnificently large, 
But being sent to Olney at free charge, 
"Was not inserted in the driver's list, 
And therefore overlook'd, forgot, or miss'd ; 
For when the messenger whom we dispatch'd 
Enquired for oysters. Hob his noddle scratch'd, 
Denying that his waggon or his wain 
Did any such commodity contain. 
In consequence of which, your welcome boon 
Did not arrive till yesterday at noon ; 
In consequence of which some chanced to die, 
And some, though very sweet, were very dry. 
Now Madam says (and what she says must still 
Deserve attention, say she what she will,) 
That what we call the Diligence, be-case 
It goes to London with a swifter pace, 
AVould better suit the carriage. of your gift, 
Ileturning downward with a pace as swift j 
And therefore recommends it with this aim — 
To save at least three days, — the price the same ; 
For though it will not carry or convey 
For less than twelve pence, send whate'er you may, 
For oysters bred upon the salt sea shore, 
Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more. 
News have I none that I can deign to writ 8, 
Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night ; 
And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, 



322 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Caught in the first beginning of the shower ; 
But walking, running, and with much ado, 
Got home — ^just time enough to be wet through. 
Yet both are well, and wond'rous to be told, 
Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold ; 
And wishing just the same good hap to you, 
We say, good Madam, and good Sir, Adieu ! 



cxc. 

The iron will of the Rev. John Newton acted in two direc- 
tions upon the sensitive character of Oowper ; at one moment 
it paralysed, and at another exhilarated him. There can he 
little doubt, however, that at'lengththe tonic became excessive, 
and the irritant too powerful for so frail and sensitive a brain. 

William Coiv2:)er to the Mev. John Newton. 

March 29, 1784. 

My dear Friend, — It being his majesty's pleasure that I should 
5^et have another opportunity to write before he dissolves the par- 
liament, I avail myself of it with all possible alacrity. I thank 
you for your last, which was not the less welcome for coming, like 
an extraordinary gazette, at a time when it was not expected. As 
when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water finds its way into 
creeks and holes of rocks, which in its calmer state it never 
reaches, in like manner the efiect of these turbulent times is felt 
even at Orchard side, where in general we live as undisturbed by 
the political element, as shrimps or cockles that have been acci- 
dentally deposited in some hollow beyond the water mark, by the 
usual dashing of the A^'aves. We were sitting yesterday after 
dinner, the two ladies and myself, very composedly, and without 
the least apprehension of any such intrusion in our snug parlour, 
one lady knitting, the other netting, and the gentleman winding 
worsted, when to our unspeakable surprise a mob appeared before 
the window ; a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys halloo'd, 
and the maid announced Mr. Grenville. Puss was unfortunately 
let out of her box, so that the candidate, with all his good friends at 
his heels, was refused admittance at the grand entry, and referred 
to the back door, as the only possible way of approach. 

Candidates are creatures not very susceptible of afironts, and 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 323 

would rather, I suppose, climb in at a T\'indow, than "be absolutely 
excluded. In a minute, the yard, the kitchen, and the parlour, 
were filled. Mr. Grenville advancing toward me shook me by the 
hand with a degree of cordiality that was extremely seducing. As 
Roon as he and as many more as could find chairs were seated, he 
began to open the intent of his visit. I told him I had no vote, 
for which he readily gave me credit. I assured him I had no 
influence, which he was not equally inclined to believe, and the 
less, no doubt, because Mr. Ashburner, the draper, addressing 
himself to me at this moment, informed me that I had a great 
deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure 
without knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assertion, by 
saying, that if I had any I was utterly at a loss to imagine where 
it could be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. 
.Mr. Gren\dlle squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, 
and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the kitchen, and 
seemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kindhearted gentle- 
man. He is very young, genteel, and handsome. He has a pair 
of very good eyes in his head, which not being sufficient as it 
should seem for the many nice and difficult purposes of a senator, 
he has a third also, which he wore suspended by a ribband from 
his buttonhole. The boys halloo'd, the dogs barked. Puss scam- 
pered ; the hero, with his long train of obsequious followers, with- 
drew. "VVe made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and in 
a short time settled into our former tranquillity, never jjrobably to 
be thus interrupted more. I thought myself, however, happy in 
being able to affirm truly that I had not that influence for which 
he sued ; and which, had I been possessed of it, with my present 
views of the dispute between the Crown and the Commons, I must 
have refused him, for he is on the side of the former. It is com- 
fortable to be of no consequence in a world where one cannot exer- 
cise any without disobliging somebody. The town however seems 
to be much at his service, and if he be equally successful throughout 
the country, he will undoubtedly gain his election. Mr. Ashburner 
perhaps was a little mortified because it was evident that I owed 
the honour of this visit to his misrepresentation of my importance. 
But had he thought proper to assure Mr. Grenville that I had three 
heads, I should not I suppose have been bound to produce them. 
Many thanks for the worsted, which is excellent. 



821 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

We are as well as a spring hardly less severe tlian the severest 
winter will give us leave to be. With our imited love, we con- 
clude ourselves yours and Mrs. Newton's affectionate and faithful, 

&c. 



CXCI. 

The new volume here spoken of was the celehrated poem 
of 'The Task/ the result of the beneficent companionship of 
Lady Austen. By its publication in 1785, Oowper, who had 
reeached his fifty-fourth year in comparative obscurity, suddenly 
found himself famous. The public was delighted to be led once 
more into the woods and fields by a poet of such pure and 
simple diction. 

William CoiDjyer to the Rev. John Xeivton. 

December 10, 1785. 
My Dear Friend ,^What you say of my last volume gives me 
the sincerest pleasure. I have heard a like favourable report of it 
from several different quarters, but never any (for obvious reasons) 
that has gratified me more than yours. I have a relish for mode- 
rate praise, because it bids fair to be judicious ; but praise excessive, 
such as our poor friend 's, (I have an uncle also who cele- 
brates me exactly in the same language ;) — such praise is rather too 
big for an ordinary swallow. I set down nine-tenths of it to the 
account of family partiality. I know no more than you what kind 
of a market my book has found ; but this I believe, that had not 
Henderson died, and had it been worth my while to have given 
him a hundred pounds to have read it in public, it would have 
been more popular than it is. I am at least very unwilling to 
esteem John Gilpin as better worth than all the rest that I have 
written, and he has been popular enough. Your sentiments of 
Pope's Homer agree perfectly with those of every competent judge 
with whom I have at any time conversed about it. I never saw 
a copy so unlike the original. Ther.e is not, I believe, in all the 
world to be found an uninspired poem so simple as those of Hcmer ; 
nor in all the world a poem more bedizened with ornaments than 
PojDe'a translation of them. Accordingly, the sublime of Homer 
in the hands of Pope becomes bloated and tumid, and his descrip- 
tion tawdry. Neither had Pope the faintest conception of those 
exquisite discriminations of character for which Homer is so 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 325 

remarkaLle. All his persons, and equally upon all occasions, 
speak in an inflated and strutting phraseology, as Pope has 
managed them ; although in the original, the dignity of their 
utterance, even when they are most majestic, consists principally 
in the simplicity of their sentiments and of their language. 
Another censure I must needs pass upon our Anglo-Grecian, out 
of many that obtrude themselves upon me, but for which I have 
neither time to spare, nor room ; which is, that with all his great 
abilities he was defective in his feelings to a degree that some 
passages in his own poems make it difficult to account for. No 
writer more pathetic than Homer, because none more natural ; and 
because none less natural than Pope in his version of Homer, 
therefore than he none less pathetic. But I shall tire you with a 
theme with which I would not wish to cloy you beforehand. 

If the great change in my experience, of which you express so 
lively an expectation, should take place, and whenever it shall take 
place, you may securely depend upon receiving the first notice of 
it. But whether you come with congratulations, or whether 
without them, I need not say that you and youi-s will always be 
most welcome here. Mrs. Unwin's love both to yourself and to 
Mrs. Newton joins itself as usual, and as warmly as usual, to 
that of Yours, my dear friend, 

affectionately and faithfully, 

Wm. Cowper. 

CXCII. 

Cowper's letters are habitually charming, but the most deli- 
cate and characteristic of all are those written to his cousin, 
that bright and loveable woman whose sympathy became neces- 
sary to his peace of mind, and who, having discovered that fact, 
for the futiu-e never withheld it. 

William Cowper to Lady HesketJi. 

May 29, 1786. 
Thou dear, comfortable cousin, whose letters, among all that I 
receive, have this property peculiarly their own, that I expect 
them without trembling, and never find any thing in them that 
does not give me pleasure; for which therefore I would take 
nothing in exchange that the world could give me, save and except 
that ^r which I must exchange them soon, (and happy shall I be 
15* 



326 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

to do so,) your own company. That, indeed, is delayed a little too 
long ; to my impatience at least it seems so, who find the spring, 
backward as it is, too forward, because many of its beauties will 
have faded before you will have an opportunity to see them. We 
took our customary walk yesterday in the wilderness at Weston, 
and saw, with regret, the laburnums, syringas, and guelder-roses, 
some of them blown, and others just upon the point of blowing, 
and could not help observing — all these will be gone before Lady 
Hesketh comes ! Still however there will be roses, and jasmine, 
and honey-suckle, and shady walks, and cool alcoves, and you will 
partake them with us. But I want you to have a share of every 
thing that is delightful here, and cannot bear that the advance of 
the season should steal away a single pleasure before you can come 
to enjoy it. 

Every day I think of you, almost all the day long ; I will ven- 
ture to say, that even you were never so expected in your life. I 
called last week at the Quaker's to see the furniture of your bed, 
the fame of which had reached me. It is, I assure you, superb, of 
printed cotton, and the subject classical. Every morning you will 
open your eyes on Phaeton kneeling to Apollo, and imploring his 
father to grant him the conduct of his chariot for a day. May 
your sleep be as sound as your bed will be sumptuous, and your 
nights at least will be well provided for. 

I shall send up the sixth and seventh books of the Iliad shortly, 
and shall address them to you. You will forward them to the 
General. I long to show you my workshop, and to see you 
sitting on the opposite side of the table. We shall be as close 
packed as two wax figures in an old fashioned picture frame. I 
am writing in it now. It is the place in which I fabricate all my 
verse in summer time. I rose an hour sooner than usual this 
morning, that I might finish my sheet before breakfast, for I must 
write this day to the General. 

The grass under my windows is all bespangled with dewdrops, 
and the birds are singing in the apple trees, among the blossoms. 
Never poet had a more commodious oratory in which to invoke 
his Muse. 

I have made your heart ache too often, my poor dear cousin, 
with talking aboiit my fits of dejection. Something has happened 
that has led me to the subject, or I would have mentioned i-hem 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 327 

more sparingly. Do not suppose, or suspect that I treat you with 
reserve ; there is nothing in which I am concerned that you shall 
not be made acquainted with. But the tale is too long for a letter. 
I will only add, for your present satisfaction, that the cause is not 
exterior, that it is not within the reach of human aid, and that yet 
I have a hope myself, and Mrs. Tin win a strong persuasion of its 
removal. I am indeed even now, and have been for a consider- 
able time, sensible of a change for the better, and expect, with 
good reason, a comfortable lift from you. Guess, then, my beloved 
cousin, with what wishes I look forward to the time of your 
arrival, from whose coming I promise myself not only pleasure, but 
peace of mind, — at least an additional share of it. At present it 
is an uncertain and transient guest with me ; but the joy with 
which I shall see and converso with you at Olney, may perhaps 
make it an abiding one. W. C. 



CXCIII. 

After the pubhcation of his Homer in 1791, the health 
and spirits of Cowper succumbed to an irremediable decay. 
For a while the necessity of attending to Mrs. Unwin, who 
was become a helpless invalid, excited and seemed to sustain 
him, but in reality it destroyed him. We get a vivid picture of 
his strange timidity in this account of his visit to Lady Bagot. 

William Cowper to the Rev. Walter Bagot. 

August 2, 1791. 
My Dear Friend, — I was much obliged, and still feel myself 
much obliged to Lady Bagot, for the visit with which she favoured 
me. Had it been possible that I could have seen Lord Bagot too, 
I should have been completely happy. For, as it happened, I was 
that morning in better spirits than usual ; and though I arrived 
late, and after a long walk, and extremely hot, which is a circum- 
stance very apt to disconcert me, yet I was not disconcerted half 
so much as I generally am at the sight of a stranger, especially of 
a stranger lady, and more especially at the sight of a stranger lady 
of quality. When the servant told me that Lady Bagot was in 
the parlour^ I felt my spirits sink ten degrees ; but the moment I 
saw her, at least when I had been a minute in her company, I felt 
them rise again, and they soon rose even above their former pitch. 



328 ENGLISR LETTERS. [1700- 

I know two ladies of fashion now, whose manners have this effect 
upon me. The Lady in question, and the Lady Spencer. I am a 
shy animal, and want much kindness to make me easy. Such I 
shall be to my dying day. Here sit I, calling myself shy, yet have 
j ust published by the by, two great volumes of poetry. 

This reminds me of Kanger's observation in the * Suspicious 
Husband,' who says to somebody, I forget whom — ' There is a 
degree of assurance in you modest men, that the impudent fellows 
can never arrive at ! ' Assurance indeed ! Have you seen 'em ? 
What do you think they are % Nothing less I can tell you than a 
translation of Homer. Of the sublimest poet in the world. 

That's all. Can I ever have the impudence to call myself shy 
again ? 

You live, I think, in the neighbourhood of Birmingham? 
What must you not have felt on the late alarming occasion ! 

You I suppose could see the fires from your windows. We, 
who only heard the news of them, have trembled. Never sure 
was religious zeal more terribly manifested, or more to the preju- 
dice of its own cause. 

Adieu, my dear friend. I am, with Mrs. Unwin's best com- 
pliments, Ever yours. 



CXCIV. 

The beauty, the misfortunes, and the talent of Charlotte 
Smith combined to make her figure universally fascinating to 
her contemporaries. At the time this letter was written, how- 
ever, she had just thrown in her lot, with her customary ardour, 
with the French Revolution, and had thereby estranged many 
of her friends. But Hayley, through whom she became acquainted 
with Cowper, remained staunch to her. 

William Cowper to Mrs. Charlotte Smith. 

October ^Q, 1793. 
Dear Madam, — Your two counsellors are of one mind. We 
both are of opinion that you will do well to make your second 
volume a suitable companion to the first, by embellishing it in the 
same manner ; and have no doubt, considering the well-deserved 
popularity of your verse that the expense will be amply refunded 
by the public. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 329 

I would give you, Madam, not my counsel only, but consolation 
also, were I not disqualified for that delightful service by a great 
dearth of it in my own experience. I, too, often seek but cannot 
find it. Of this however I can assure you, if that may at all com- 
fort you, that both my friend Hayley and myself most truly sym- 
pathize with you under all your sufferings ; neither have you, I am 
persuaded, in any degree lost the interest you always had in him, 
or your claim to any service of whatever kind that it may be in 
his power to render you. Had you no other title to his esteem, 
his respect for your talents and his feelings for your misfortunes 
must insure to you the friendship of such a man for ever. I know, 
however, that there are seasons when, look which way we will, we 
see the same dismal gloom enveloping all objects. This is itself an 
affliction, and the worse because it makes us think ourselves more 
unhappy than we are ; and at such a season it is, I doubt not, that 
you suspect a diminution of our friend's zeal to serve you. 

I was much struck by an expression in your letter to Hayley 
where you say that 'you will endeavour to take an interest in 
green leaves again.' This seems the sound of my own voice 
reflected to me from a distance ; I have so often had the same 
thought and desire. 

A day scarcely passes at this season of the year when I do not 
contemplate the trees so soon to be stript, and, say, perhaps I shall 
never see you clothed again ; every year as it passes makes this 
expectation more reasonable, and the year, with me, cannot be 
very distant when the event will verify it. Well — may God grant 
us a good hope of arriving in due time where the leaves never fall, 
and all will be right. 

Mrs. TJnwin I think is a little better than when you saw her, 
but still feeble ; so feeble as to keep me in a state of continual 
apprehension. I live under the point of a sword suspended by a 
hair. She begs you to accept her compliments. 

Adieu, my dear madam, believe me 

Your sincere and affectionate humble servant, 

Wm. Cowper. 



ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CXCV. 



The most appropriate introduction to this letter "will he 
from Gihhou's * Memoirs of my Life and Writings.' Referring 
to the opponents who had been provoked by his memorable 
attack on Christianity in the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters of 
bis History, he says : — 'In his " History of the Corruptions of 
Christianity," Dr. Priestley threw down his two gauntlets to 
Bishop Hurd and Mr. Gibbon. I declined the challenge in a 
letter exhorting my opponent to enlighten the world by his 
philosophical discoveries,' &c. Priestley's object evidently was 
to induce Gibbon to avow plainly his opposition to Christianity. 

Edivard Gibbon to Dr. Priestley. 

January 23, 1783. 

Sir, — As a mark of your esteem, I should have accepted with 
pleasure your ' History of the Corruptions of Christianity.' You 
have been careful to inform me, that it is intended, not as a gift, 
but as a challenge, and such a challenge you must permit me to 
decline. At the same time you glory in outstripping the zeal of 
the Mufti and the Lama, it may be proper to declare, that I should 
equally refuse the defiance of those venerable divines. Once, and 
once only, the just defence of my own veracity provoked me to 
descend into the amphitheatre ; but as long as you attack opinions 
which I have never maintained, or maintain principles which I 
have never denied, you may safely exult in my silence and your 
own victory. The difference between us, (on the credibility of 
miracles,) which you choose to suppose, and wish to argue, is a 
trite and antient topic of controversy, and, from the opinion which 
you entertain of yourself and of me, it does not appear probable 
that our dispute would either edify or enlighten the Public. 

That Public will decide to whom the invidious name of unbe- 
liever more justly belongs ; to the Historian, who, without inter- 
posing his own sentiments, has delivered a simple narrative of 
authentic facts, or to the disputant who proudly rejects all 
natural proofs of the immortality of the soul, overthrows (by cir- 
cumscribing) the inspiration of the evangelists and apostles, and 
condemns the religion of every Christian nation, as a fable less 
innocent, but not less absurd, than Mahomet's journey to the third 
Heaven. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 331 

And no\v, Sir, since yon assnme a right to determine tlie objects 
of my past and future studies, give me leave to convey to your ear 
the almost unanimous, and not offensive wish, of the philosophic 
world : — that yo\.i would confine your talents and industry to those 
sciences in which real and useful improvements can be made. 
Remember the end of your predecessor Servetus, not of his life, 
(the Calvins of our days are restrained from the use of the same 
fiery arguments,) but, I mean, the end of his reputation. His 
theological writings are lost in oblivion ; and if his book on the 
Trinity be still preserved, it is only because it contains the first 
rudiments of the discovery of the circulation of the blood. 

I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant. 



CXCVI. 

In the letter to which the following is the reply, Dr Priest- 
ley, after some sneering remarks touching Gibbon's covert and 
insidious method of attacking Christianity, had observed that 
he admired Servetus more for his courage as a martyr than for 
his services as a scientific discoverer. 

Edward Gihhon to Dr. Priestley. 

February 6, 1783. 
Sir, — As I do not pretend to judge of the sentiments or inten- 
tions of another, I shall not enquire how far you are inclined to 
suffer, or inflict, martjrdom. It only becomes me to sa}'^, that the 
style and temper of your last letter have satisfied me of the pro- 
priety of declining all farther correspondence, whether public or 
private, with such an adversary. 

I am. Sir, your humble servant. 



CXCVII. 

It is difficult to associate with the cold and cynical historian 
of the Roman Empire so much tenderness and genuine depth of 
feeling as this letter displays. But Gibbon's attachment to Lord 
Sheffield and Mr. Deyverdun was singularly unselfish, almost 
romantic. It should be remembered that at the time he 
undertook this visit to England he was suflering from a dreadful 
disease which must have made travelling not only inconvenient 
but painfuL 



332 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Edioard Gibbon to Lord Sheffield. 

Lausanne : April 27, 1793. 

My dearest Friend, — for such you most truly are, nor does there 
exist a person who obtains, or shall ever obtain, a superior place in 
my esteem and affection. After too long a silence I was sitting 
down to write, when, only yesterday morning (such is now the 
irregular slowness of the English post), I was suddenly struck, in- 
deed struck to the heart, by the fatal intelligence from Sir Henry 
Clinton and M. de Lally. Alas ! what is life, and what are our 
hopes and projects ! When I embraced her at your departure 
from Lausanne, could I imagine that it was for the last time'? 
When I postponed to another summer my journey to England, 
could I apprehend that I never, never should see her again 1 I 
always hoped that she would spin her feeble thread to a long 
duration, and that her delicate frame would survive (as is often 
the case) many constitutions of a stouter appearance. In four 
days ! in your absence, in that of her children ! But she is now at 
rest ; and if there be a future life, her mild virtues have surely 
entitled her to the reward of pure and perfect felicity. It is for 
you that I feel, and I can judge of your sentiments by comparing 
them with my own. I have lost, it is true, an amiable and affec- 
tionate friend, whom I had known and loved above three-and- 
twenty years, and whom I often styled by the endearing name of 
sister. But you are deprived of the companion of your life, the 
wife of your choice, and the mother of your children ; poor chil- 
dren ! the liveliness of Maria, and the softness of Louisa, render 
them almost equally the objects of my tenderest compassion. I do 
not wish to aggravate your grief; but, in the sincerity of friend- 
ship, I cannot hold a different language. I know the impotence of 
reason, and I much fear that the strength of your character will 
serve to make a sharper and more lasting impression. 

The only consolation in these melancholy trials to which 
human life is exposed, the only one at least in which I have any 
confidence, is the presence of a real friend ; and of that, as far as it 
depends on myself, you shall not be destitute. I regret the few 
days that must be lost in some necessary preparations ; but I 
trust that to-morrow se'nnight (May the fifth) I shall be able to 
set forwards on my journey to England ; and when this letter 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. ' 333 

reaches you, I shall be considerably advanced on my way. As it 
is yet prudent to keep at a respectful distance from the banks of 
the French Rhine, I shall incline a little to the right, and proceed by 
Schaffousen and Stutgard to Frankfort and Cologne : the Austrian 
Netherlands are now open and safe, and I am sure of being able at 
least to pass from Ostend to Dover; whence, without passing 
through London, I shall pursue the direct road to Sheffield Place. 

Unless I should meet wdth some unforeseen accidents and 
delays, I hope, before the end of the month to share your solitude, 
and sympathize with your grief. All the difficulties of the journey, 
which my indolence had probably magnified, have now disappeared 
before a stronger passion ; and you will not be sorry to hear, that, 
as far as Frankfort to Cologne, I shall enjoy the advantage of the 
society, the conversation, the German language, and the active 
assistance of Severy. His attachment to me is the sole motive 
which prompts him to undertake this troublesome journey ; and as 
soon as he has seen me over the roughest ground he will immedi- 
ately return to Lausanne. The poor young man loved Lady S. as 
a mother, and the whole family is deeply afiected by an event 
which reminds them too painfully of their own misfortune. Adieu. 
I could write volumes, and shall therefore break off abruptly. I 
shall write on the road, and hope to find a few lines (I 
restante at Frankfort and Brussels. Adieu ; ever yours. 



CXCVIIL 

During the tour to the Plehrides with Dr. Johnson, Boswell 
wrote the following interesting letter to David Garrick, which, 
to use the great actor's own words, ' made me half mad.' 

James Bosivell to David Garrick. 

Inverness: August 29, 1773. 
My dear Sir, — Here I am, and Mr. Samuel Johnson actually 
with me. We were a night at Fores, in coming to which, in the 
dusk of the evening, we passed over the bleak and blasted heath 
where Macbeth met the witches. Your old preceptor repeated, 
with much solemnity, the speech, ' How far is't called to Fores % 
What are these, so withered and so wild in their attire.' 

This day we visited the ruins of Macbeth's castle at Inverness. 



334 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

I have had great romantic satisfaction in seeing Jolinson upon the 
classical scenes of Shakspeare in Scotland ; which I really looked 
upon as almost as improbable as that ' Birnam Wood should come to 
Diinsinane.' Indeed, as I have always been accustomed to view 
him as a permanent London object, it would not be much more 
wonderful to me to see St. Paul's church moving along where we 
now are. As yet we have travelled in post-chaises ; but to-morrow 
we are to mount on horseback, and ascend into the mountains by 
Fort Augustus, and so on to the ferry, where we are to cross to 
Skye. We shall see that island fully, and then visit some more of 
the Hebrides ; after which we are to land in Argyleshire, proceed 
by Glasgow to Auchinleck, repose there a competent time, and 
then return to Edinburgh, from whence the E-ambler will depart 
for old England again, as soon as he finds it convenient. Hitherto 
we have had a very prosperous expedition. I flatter myself, 
serveiur ad imum, qualis ah incepto 2>roGesserit. He is in excel- 
lent spirits, and I have a rich journal of his conversation. Look 
back, Davy, to Lichfield ; run up through the time that has 
elapsed since you first knew Mr. Johnson, and enjoy with me his 
present extraordinary tour. I could not resist the impulse of 
writing to you from this place. The situation of the old castle 
corresponds exactly to Shakspeare's description. While we were 
there to-day, it happened oddly that a raven perched upon one of 
the chimney-tops, and croaked. Then I in my turn repeated — 

The raven himself is hoarse, 

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 

Under my battlements ! 

I wish you had been with us. Think what an enthusiastic happi- 
ness I shall have to see Mr. Samuel Johnson walking among the 
romantic rocks and woods of my ancestors at Auchinleck. Write 
to me at Edinburgh. You owe me his verses on great George and 
tuneful Gibber, and the bad verses which led him to make his fine 
ones on Philips the musician. Keep your promise, and let me 
have them. I offer my very best compliments to Mrs. Garrick, 
and ever am your warm admirer and friend. 

James Boswell. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 335 



CXOIX. 

Bos-well'a passion for notoriety, even at the expense of pub- 
lishiug- ridicule of himself, pursued him from youth to old age. 
This is a specimen of the Oippant banter he thought fit to 
chronicle. (See ' Boswell's Letters/ p. 865.) 

He had not yet made the acquaintance of his future idol, Dr. 
Samuel Johnson. 

Andreiu ErsJcine to James Bosivell. 

New Tarhat: November 23, 17G1. 
Dear Boswell, — As we oever bear that Demosthenes could broil 
beefsteaks, or Cicero poach eggs, we may safely conclude that these 
gentlemen understood nothing of cookery. In like manner, it 
may be concluded that you, James Boswell, and I, Andrew 
Erskine, cannot write serious epistles. This, as IMr. Tristram 
says, I deny ; for this letter of mine shall contain the quintessence 
of solidity ; it shall be a piece of boiled beef and cabbage, a roasted 
goose, and a boiled leg of pork and greens : in one word, it shall 
contain advice, sage and mature advice. Oh, James Boswell! 
take care and don't break your neck, pray don't fracture your 
skull, and be very cautious in your manner of tumbling down pre- 
cipices ; beware of falling into coalpits, and don't drown yourself 
in every pool you meet with. Having thus warned you of the 
most material dangers which your youth and inexperience will be 
ready to lead you into, I now pioceed to others less momentary 
indeed, but very necessary to be strictly observed. Go not near 
the soaping Club; never mention Drury Lane playhouse; be 
attentive to those pinchbeck buckles which fortune has so gra- 
ciously given you, of which I am afraid you'r hardly fond 
enough ; ^ never wash your face, but above all forswear poetry ; 
from experience I can assure you, and this letter may serve as a 
proof, that a man maybe as dull in prose as in verse; and as dull- 
ness is what we aim at, prose is the easiest of the two. Oh, my 
friend, profit by these my instructions, think that you see me 
studying for your advantage, my reverend locks overshadowing my 
pa])er, my hands trembling, and my tongue hanging out, a figure 
of esteem, affection, and veneration. By heavens, Boswell ! I love 

* Boswell was a great dandy in his youth. 



336 ENGLISB LETTERS. [1700- 

you more but this I think may be more conveniently expressed 

in rhyme. 

More than a herd of swine a kennel muddy, 
More than a brilliant belle polemic study, 
More than fat Falstaff loved a cup of sack, 
More than a guilty criminal the rack. 
More than attorneys love by cheats to thrive, 
And more than witches to be burnt alive. 

I begin to be afraid that we shall not see you here this winter, 
which will be a great loss to you. If ever you travel into 
foreign parts, as Machiavel used to say, everybody abroad will 
require a description of New Tarbat from you. That you may 
not appear totally ridiculous and absurd, I shall send you some 
little account of it. Imagine then to yourself what Thomson 
would call an interminable plain, interspersed in a lovely manner 
wdth beautiful green hills. The seasons here are only shifted by 
summer and spring. Winter with his fur cap and his cat-skin 
gloves, was never seen in this charming retreat. The castle is of 
Gothic structure, awful and lofty ; there are fifty bedchambers in 

it, with halls, saloons, and galleries without number. Mr. M 's 

father, who was a man of infinite humour, caused a magnificent 
lake to be made, just before the entry of the house. His diversion 
v/as to peep out of his window, and see the people who came to 
visit him skipping through it, for there was no other passage; 
then he used to put on such huge fires to dry their clothes that 
there wl\s no bearing them. He used to declare that he never 
thought a man good company till he was half-drowned and half- 
burnt ; but if in any part of his life he had narrowly escaped 
hanging (a thing not uncommon in the Highlands) he would 
perfectly doat upon him, and whenever the story was told him 
he was ready to choke himself. But to return. Everything 
here is in the grand and sublime style. But, alas ! some envious 

magician with his d d enchantments, has destroyed all these 

beauties. By his potent art the house with so many bedcham- 
bers in it cannot conveniently lodge above a dozen people. 
The room which I am writing in just now is in reality a 
handsome parlour of twenty feet by sixteen, though in my eyes 
and to all outward appearance it seems a garret of six feet by 
four. The magnificent lake is a dirty puddle, the lovely plain a 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 337 

rude, wild couatry covered with the most astonishing high black 
mountains ; the inhabitants, the most amiable race under the sun, 
appear now to be the ugliest, and look as if they were overrun 
with the itch : their delicate limbs, adorned with finest silk stock- 
ings, are now bare and very dirty ; but to describe all the trans- 
formations would take up more paper than Lady B , from 

whom I had this, would choose to give me. My own metamor- 
phosis is indeed so extraordinary that I must make you acquainted 
with it. You know I am really very thick and short, prodigiously 
talkative, and wonderfully impudent : now I am thin and tall, 
strangely silent, and very bashful. If these things continue, who 
is safe? Even you, Boswell, may feel a change. Your fair and 
transparent complexion may turn black and oily, your person 
little and squat, and who knows but you may eternally rave 
about the King of Great Britain's Guards,' a species of mad- 
ness from which good Lord deliver us ! I have often wondered, 
Boswell, that a man of your taste in music cannot play upon the 
Jew's-harp; there are some of us here that touch it very melo- 
diously, I can tell you. Corelli's solo of ' Maggie Lauder,' and 
Pergolesi's sonata of ' The Carle he came o'er the Craft,' are excel- 
lently adapted to that instrument. Let me advise you to learn it. 
The first cost is but three halfpence, and they last a long time. 
Having thus, Boswell, written you a most entertaining letter, with 
which you are highly pleased, to your great grief I give over, in 
these or the like words, 

Your affectionate friend 
Andrew Erskine. 

CO. 

The original body of the Royal Academy contained two 
women, the famous Angelica Kaufmann, and Mary Moser, 
whose flower pieces were as much admired in her own day as 
those of Van Huysum. The latter of these ladies fancied herself 
in love with Fuseli, the painter ; and it was on the occasion of his 
visit to Italy that she sent him this lively and coquettish epistle 
interesting from its casual notice of many eminent persons, and 
from the idea it gives us of a Royal Academy Exhibition more 
than a hundred years ago. 

* Boswell relinquished the idea of ' going into the Guards ' after the 
Duke of Argyll had expressed the opinion that the youth ought not to he 
shot at for three and sixpence a day. 



333 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



Mary Moser to Henry Fusdi. 

Autumn of 1770. 

If you have not forgotten at Kome those friends whom you 
remembered at Florence, write to me from that nursery of arts 
and raree-show of the world which flourishes in ruins ; tell me of 
pictures, palaces, people, lakes, woods, and rivers ; say if Old Tiber 
droops with age, or whether his waters flow as clear, his rushes 
grow as green, and his swans look as white, as those of Father 
Thames : or write me your own thoughts and reflections which 
will be more acceptable than any description of any thing Greece 
and E-ome have done these two thousand years. 

I suppose there has been a million of letters sent to Italy with 
an account of our Exhibition, so it will be only telling you what 
you know already, to say that Reynolds was like himself in 
pictures which you have seen ; Gainsborough bdyond himself in a 
portrait of Garrick in the character of Abel Drugger, with two 
other figures. Subtle and Face. Sir Joshua agreed to give a 
hundred guineas for the picture ; Lord Carlisle half an hour after 
ofiered Reynolds twenty to part with it, which the Knight gene- 
rously refused, resigned his intended purchase to the Lord, and the 
emolument to his brother artist. (He is a gentleman !) Angelica 
made a very great addition to the show; and Mr. Hamilton's 
picture of Briseis parting from Achilles, was very much admired : 
the Briseis in taste, d, Vantique, elegant and simple. Coates, 
Dance, Wilson, <kc,, as usual. Mr. West had no large picture 
finished. You will doubtless imagine I derived my epistolary 
genius from my nurse ; but when you are tired of my gossiping, 
you may burn the letter, so I shall go on. Some of the literati of 
the Royal Academy were very much disappointed, as they could 
not obtain diplomas; but the Secretary, who is above trifles, has 
since made a very flattering compliment to the Academy in the 
Preface to his Travels : the Professor of History is comforted by 
the success of his ' Deserted Village,' which is a very pretty poem, 
and has lately jjut himself under the conduct of Mrs. Hornick 
and her fair daughters, and is gone to France ; and Dr. Johnson 
sips his tea and cares not for the vanity of the world. Sir Joshua, 
a few days ago, entertained the Council and Visitors with calipash 



1800] I!^^GZISH: LETTERS. 339 

and calipee, except poor Coates, who last week fell a victim to the 
corroding power of soap-lees, which he hoped would have cured 
him of the stone ; many a tear will drop on his grave, as he is not 
more lamented as an artist than a friend to the distressed. (J/a 
2ooca polvere sono che nulla sente !) My mamma declares that you 
are an insufferable creature, and that she speaks as good English 
as your mother did High-German. Mr. Meyer laughed aloud at 
your letter, and desired to be remembered. My father and his 
daughter long to know the progress you will make, particularly 

Mary Mosee, 
"Who remains sincerely your friend and believes you will exclaim 

or mutter to yourself, ' Why did she send this d d nonsense to 

me ? ' 

Henry Fuseli Esq. a Eoma. 



CCI. 

Mrs. Hannah More's long and useful life may he divided 
into two epochs — her town and her country life. The first period 
extended to her fortieth year, during which she wrote dramas 
and associated with the chief male and female vrits in London. 
The second is that through which she is best known. Resign- 
ing all ambition to be celebrated as a playwright, and impressed 
with the seriousness of religion and the need of reform in female 
education, she retired to Gloucestershire, and there worked and 
wrote for rich and poor ahke. The gay side of her nature shows 
itself very generally in her correspondence. 

Mrs. Hannah Jfore to Jlrs. Gwathia. 

Hampton : August 0, 1778. 
My dear Madam, — I wrote to you last Friday, not knowing of 
your migration. I hope they will not send you up the letter, as it 
is of no consequence now ; containing only the particulars relative 
to my dear little friend, of which you have now so much better 
information. "When your letter was brought, I was upon a visit 
in the neighbourhood, where it was sent me. There were ten 
ladies and a clergyman. I was pleased with the assemblage, 
thinking the vanity of the sex would meet with its equilibrium 
in the wisdom of the profession; — that the brilliant sallies of 
female wit and sprightliness would be corrected and moderated by 
the learned gravity and judicious conversation of the Kev. Theo- 
logue. I looked upon the latter as the centripetal, acting againsfc 



340 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

the centrifugal force of the former, who would be kept within 
their orbit of decorum by his means. For about an hour nothing 
was uttered but ivords, which are almost an equivalent to nothing. 
The gentleman had not yet spoken. The ladies, with loud vocife- 
rations, seemed to talk much without thinking at all. The gentle- 
man, with all the male stupidity of silent recollection, without 
saying a siugle syllable, seemed to be acting over the pantomime 
of thought. I cannot say, indeed, that his countenance so much 
belied his understanding, as to express any thing : no, let me not 
do him that injustice ; he might have sat for the picture of insen- 
sibility. I endured his taciturnity thinking that the longer he 
was in collecting, adjusting, and arranging his ideas, the more 
would he charm me with the tide of oi-atorical eloquence, when 
the materials of his conversation were ready for display : but, alas ! 
it never occurred that I have seen an emjyty bottle corked as well 
as a full one. After sitting another hour, I thought I perceived 
in him signs of pregnant sentiment, which was just on the point of 
being delivered in speech. I was extremely exhilarated at this, 
but it was a false alarm ; he essayed it not. At length the 
imprisoned powers of rhetoric burst through the shallow mounds 
of torpid silence and reserve, and he remarked, v/ith equal acute- 
ness of wit, novelty of invention, and depth of penetration, that 
— ' we had had no summer.' Then, shocked at his own loquacity, 
he double-locked the door of his lips, ' and xoord spoke never moreJ 
AVill you not say I am turning devotee when I tell you what my 
amusements, of the reading kind, are. I have read through all 
the epistles three times since I have been here ; the ordinary trans- 
lation, Locke's Paraphrase, and a third put into very elegant 
English (I know not by whom), in which St. Paul's obscurities 
are elucidated, and Harwood's pomp of words avoided. I am also 
reading * West on the Resurrection ; ' in my poor judgment a most 
excellent thing, calculated to confound all the cavils of the infidel, 
and to confirm all the hopes of the believer. Have you heard 
from the sweet little Cornwallian since you left her % My most 
affectionate regards to my dear Master Lovell, and earnest wishes 
for his speedy recovery. 

I am, my dear Madam 

With the most perfect esteem 
Your ever obliged and affectionate humble servant 

H. More, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 341 

ecu. 

Ilrs. Ilannah More to Mrs. Boscawen. 

Bath: 1797. 

If I do write, quoth I to myself, in the humour I am in, I 
shall convince my most honoured friend that I have no wit ; and 
if I do not write I shall prove to a demonstration that I have no 
gratitude. Thus the matcer stood for a long time in exact equi- 
poise; but at last recollecting that wit was only a talent, and 
gratitude a virtue, I was resolved to secure to myself the reputa- 
tion and comfort of the one, though at the risk, nay the certainty, 
of forfeiting all pretensions to the other. Kow, Madtim, I appeal 
to your discernment, if I have not made the better choice % Of 
attaining to the one I despair ; it is a rare but dangerous present — 
but come. Gratitude ! thou peaceful, amiable virtue, and confess 
(though thou art less addicted to confession than to feeling) if I 
did not cherish thee in my heart, this morning, when I received so 
delightful a letter from Audley Sti^eet, Nothing could have 
diminished the entire pleasure that letter gave me, but the lui- 
pleasant intelligence of the indisposition of the writer. 

I did not get hither to my winter quarters till Christmas. I 
was so earnestly pressed to halt at Stoke, with the Duchess, in my 
way, that I complied for three or four days. Very strong indeed 
were the intreaties of my noble hostess that I should i-emain 
during the visit of the whole house of Manners, but I was con- 
strained to be equally firm in my refusal. 

Since I have been here I have so entirely lost my cough as to 
be able to drink the waters, which do me much good. Now, my 
dear Madam, if you do not think here is already a sufficient quan- 
tity of egotism, I will go on to tell you, that though I go to the 
pump, I do not make any visits, not having set my foot to the 
ground these two months. I shall, however, make an exception in 
favour of your neighbours. Lord and Lady Kenyon, who have 
done me the honour to desire to be acquainted with me. I am 
much pleased with the plain unadorned integrity, the simplicity of 
manners, the respect for piety, of this great Lord Chief Justice : I 
think he discovers more reverence for virtue and religion in his 
decisions than any law leader I remember. 

My friends are extremely kind, so that I have full as much 
16 



342 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

company as my heart can wish. Lady Hemes is here, with the 
full use of her limbs, which I am glad of; though, if they had been 
my limbs, I question if I should have thought the use of them 
worth purchasing at the expense of living abroad — better be dying 
in England, than well any where else, is my maxim. Grave as 
the times are, Bath never was so gay ; princes and kings that will 
be, and princes and kings that have been, pop upon you at every 
corner ; the Stadtholder and Prince of Wales only on a flying visit ; 
but their Highnesses of York are become almost inhabitants, and 
very sober and proper their behaviour is. The Duchess contri- 
butes by her residence in it, to make our street alive. I had the 
honour of spending a morning with her Royal Highness. Her 
conversation was judicious and lively ; the waters have been of 
service to her ; she has had the goodness to present me with a 
beautiful little box with her hair, set round with pearls on the lid. 

Lady Waldegrave writes me but a sad account of poor Lord 
Oxford. Of Mrs. Carter's recovery, though slow, I hear better 
accounts. I say nothing of war, because I am weary of the word, 
nor of peace, because I lose all hope of it. I am thankful, how- 
ever, that the fault does not rest with us ; one can bear the 
affliction far better, when one has not to bear the guilt also. 

Alas ! my dear Madam, your letter has just arrived which 
announces the affecting tidings of Lord Oxford's death — affecting 
in no small degree ; though I have been in daily expectation of 
such an event taking place, my feelings are quite overcome when 
I call to remembrance that kindness which knew no interruption 
during twenty years. 

I am, dear Madam, 

Affectionately yours, 

H. More 



coin. 

Dr. Samuel Parr, the eminent scliolar and philologist, 
resigned an assistant-mastership at HarroAv in 1772 and kept a 
private school. In 1786 he retired to Hatton in Warwickshire, 
where he resided during the remainder of his life. Here he 
wrote on all manner of subjects, critical, historical, philological, 
and metaphysical ; and in the abundance of his learning his 
advice and help were sought by many celebrated writers. That 
he left no special and great work behind him is not surprising, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 3i3 

if we consider the time lie miistliaYe exhausted in letter-writing". 
Quite a literary curiosity is the list of over 1,400 of his corre- 
spondents, given in the 7th vol. of his published works, includ- 
ing people of ahnost every rank and profession, from Royalty to 
the humble pupil. There seems to be no doubt that in conver- 
sational power he had no rival, with the exception of Dr. John- 
son, and that like the great Lexicographer he could at times be 
excessively arrogant. We may read that James Boswell was 
in danger of losing prestige, if not, indeed, of suffering total 
eclipse. 

Dr. Samuel Parr to Mr. CradocJc. 

Ilatton : January G, 1825. 
Dear and truly excellent Mr. Cradock, — Again and again I 
thank you for a letter, most elegant in the style, interesting in tho 
matter, and courteous in the spirit. Long, dear Sir, have I been 
acquainted with your various and curious knowledge, with your 
pure taste, with your polished manners, and your benevolent dis- 
position. Happy I always was in your enlightened conversation, 
and accustomed I have been to assign you a very distinguished 
place among those literary men who combine the best social quali- 
ties with intellectual endowments. 

Nam te cum doctis semper vixissa fatetur 
Invidia. 

And your diction will not yield the place to the Magni, of whom 
Horace boasts. 

Well, dear Sir, I sympathise with you in your pleasure and 
in your pride, when you represent yourself as the oldest remain- 
ing scholar, who lived upon terms of intimacy with Samuel 
Johnson. You saw him often, and you met him often, in the 
presence of Goldsmith, Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and other 
literary heroes. I acknowledge the great superiority of your 
claims. Lord Stowell, I should suppose, will stand in the next 
place, and I challenge for myself the third. For many years I 
spent a month's holidays in London, and never failed to call upon 
Johnson. I was not only admitted, but welcomed. I conversed 
with him upon numberless subjects of learning, politics, and com- 
mon life. I traversed the whole compass of his understanding ; 
and, by the acknowledgment of Burke and Reynolds, I distinctly 
understood the peculiar and transcendental properties of his mighty 
and virtuous mind. I intended to write his life ; I laid by sixty or 



344 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

seventy books for the purpose of writing it in such a manner as would 
do no discredit to myself. I intended to spread my thoughts over 
two volumes quarto, and if I had filled three pages the rest would 
have followed. Often have I lamented my ill fortune in not build- 
ing this monument to the fame of Johnson, and let me not be accused 
of arrogance when I add, my oAvn. 

I read with great attention and great approbation the tragedy 
which you sent me, and I should like to talk with you three or* 
four hours upon its very great merits. You gladden my soul by 
telling me of your intention to instruct and to interest men of 
letters, and men of wisdom, by reviewing what you saw and heard 
in the course of your observations upon events and characters for 
many years. 

Thus far, solitude has been of use to you, and your grey hairs 
will bring to you increase of honour, by the proofs which you 
will give that your mental strength is not impaired by old age. 
Pray Mr. Cradock, let me now and then hear from you. I fear 
that it will not be in my power again to visit the capital ; but if I 
should go thither, be assured that I will find my way to your abode. 
At all events, permit me to call you my friend ; and do not be 
angry with me for telling you that, in the will I last made, I left you 
a ring, as a memorial of my regard and respect. I should defy the 
rigours of winter if I could find an opportunity of spending hours 
and hours with you, or our most intelligent and upright friend, 
John Nichols. My mind was soothed when I read your statement 
of the concern which you and other valuable men expressed for my 
health. Danger is over, and my recovery goes on even rapidly. I 
must beg a favour from you and Mr. Urban. On the 26th of this 
month I shall complete my 78th j^ear, and, by the kindness of 
Providence, mens sana in cotyore sano has fallen to my lot. I 
hope that you and Mr. Urban will find a bumper for many returns 
of my birthday. You shall be indulged with water, but John 
Nichols must qualify some of his oldest and most orthodox port. 
May heaven bless you both ! I have the honour to be, dear Sir, 
with unfeigned respect, your friend and obedient humble servant, 

S. Parr. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTEES. 345 



CCIV. 

So mucli excellent work in Joseph Ritson's way has heen 
done since the beginning of this century that the name of this 
writer has long ceased to he popular. As a collector of ancient 
English and Scottish songs, and a writer on our early metrical 
romances he excited a great deal of curiosity and interest a 
hundred years ago. He also excited no little enmity from the 
persistent acerbity of his literary criticisms. His intimacy with 
this early- ballad literature may have imbued him with the 
Tory spirit, but hardly qualified him to quit his proper sphere 
for this sort of havardage against the Whigs. 

Joseph Ritson to Sir Harris Nicolas {the Editor oj his Letters). 

Gray s Inn : April 20, 1796. 
Ah ! you are a clever fellow ! after half a dozen attempts you 
have at last (with Mr. Wolley's assistance) given a precise answer- 
to one half of my question, and to that half too, which you might 
have easily guessed was of no sort of consequence to me. However, 
' cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend 
his pace by beating.' I know of no authors who give an authentic 
account of events from the revolution to the present time, unless 
it be Sir John Dairy mple (Memoirs of Great Britain, 3 volumes 
4to. and 8vo.) to the battle of La Hogue; Macpherson (History 
of G. B. and original papers, 4 volumes, 4to,), to the accession of 
the present family ; and Srnollett, to the peace of 1748. Always 
prefer Tory or Jacobite writei'S ; the Whigs are the greatest liars 
in the world. You consult history for facts, not principles. The 
Whigs, I allow, have the advantage in the latter, and this advan- 
tage they are constantly labouring to support by a misrepresentation 
of the former. A glaring instance of this habitual perversion is 
their uniform position, that the King, Lords and Commons, are the 
three estates of the realm ; than which nothing can be more false. 
Now, it so happens, that the bad principles of the Tories are cor- 
roborated by the facts and records of history, which makes it their 
inteiest to investigate, and expose the truth ; and I can readily 
believe that all the alterations which Hume professes to have made 
in his history in favour of that party were strictly just. The 
revolution itself was so iniquitous a transaction, and we have had 
such a succession of scoundrels since it took place, that you must 



3iG ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

not wonder if corruption or pusillanimity have prevented historians 
from speaking of both as they deserve. You will do Mr. Malone 
great injustice if you suppose him to be in all respects what I may 
have endeavoured to represent him in some. In order that he 
may recover your more favourable opinion, let me recommend to 
your perusal, the discussion, in his prolegomena, entitled, * Shak- 
speare, Ford and Jonson ; ' and his ' Dissertation on the three 
parts of King Henry the Sixth,' (to which I am more indebted for 
an acquaintance with the manner of our great dramatic poet than 
to any thing I ever read). His recent enquiry into the Shakspearian 
forgeries evinces, also, considerable industry and acuteness, and is 
certainly worth your reading. I do not mean to say that thei-e 
was any difficulty in the subject; but it has certainly derived im- 
portance from the ignorant presumption and cullibility of certain 
literary aristocrats who have considerable influence upon what is 
called the public. As to the personalities in my Quijo modest and 
Cursory criticisms, I can only defend them by those of my antago- 
nist. In behalf of the Remarks I have nothing to say. Indeed, 
I should think you much better employed in putting ,them into 
the fire, than in a vain attempt to diminish the inaccuracies of 
such a mass of error both typographical and authorial. Farewell. 

J. RiTSON. 



CCV. 

A prominent feature of the ' Diary and Letters of tlie Author 
of Evelina,' is the revelation of the miboimded affection that the 
different members of the Burney family entertained for one 
another. ' Frances Burney's (Madame d'Arblay) sister, Mrs. 
Susanna Phillips, died soon after reaching Norbury Park after 
travelling from Dublin. * The news of her death,' wrote 
Madame d'Arblay, ' closed the last period of my perfect happi- 
ness on earth.' 

Madame d'Arhlay to IL's. Loch. 

January 9, 1800. 
' As a Guardian Angel! ' — Yes, my dearest Fredy, as such in 
every interval of despondence I have looked up to the sky to see 
her ; but my eyes cannot pierce through the thick atmosphere, and 
I can only represent her to me seated on a chair of sickness, her 
soft hand held partly out to me as I approach her; her softer eyes 
so greeting me as never welcome was expressed before; and a smilo 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 347 

of heavenly expression speaking the tender gladness of her grateful 
soul that God at length should grant our reunion. From our 
earliest moments, when no misfortune happened to our dear family, 
we wanted nothing but each other. Joyfully as others were re- 
ceived by us — loved by us — all that was necessary to our happiness 
was fulfilled by our simple junction. This I remember with my 
first remembrance ; nor do I recollect a single instance of being 
afifected beyond a minute by any outward disappointment, if its 
result was leaving us together. 

She was the soul of my soul ! — and 'tis wonderful to me, my 
dearest Fred}^, that the fi.rst shock did not join them immediately 
by the flight of mine — but that over — that dreadful, harrowing, 
never-to-be-forgotten moment of horror that made me wish to be 
mad — the ties that after that first endearing period have shared 
with her my heart, come to my aid. Yet I was long incredulous ; 
and still sometimes I think it is not — and that she will come — and 
I paint her by my side — by my father's — in every room of these 
apartments, destined to have chequered the woes of her life with 
rays of comfort, joy, and affection. 

0, my Fredy, not selfish is the affliction that repines her earthly 
course of sorrow was allowed no shade ! — that at the instant soft 
peace and consolation awaited her she should breathe her last ! 
You would understand all the hardship of resignation for me were 
you to read the joyful opening of her letter, on her landing, to my 
poor father, andher pra^'er at the end to be restored to him. O, my 
Fredy ! could you indeed think of me — be alarmed for me on 
that dreadful day ! — I can hardly make that enter my compre- 
hension ; but I thank you from my soul ; for that is beyond any 
love I had thought possible, even from your tender heart. Tell 
me you all keep well, and forgive me my distraction. I write so 
fast I fear you can hardly read ; but you will see I am con- 
versing with you, and that will show you how I turn to you for 
the comfort of your tenderness. Yes, you have all a loss indeed ! 

Frances d'Aeblay. 



348 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



CCVI. 

We read in one of Mrs. Inchbald's letters that on tLe day 
Covent Garden Theatre was burnt to the g'rouud (1809), a 
volume of ' Sermons ' which had been sent to her by the author, 
the Rev. J. Plumptre, was opened for the first time. The pub- 
lication of this volume was seasonable enough, for the parish 
pulpits were, at the time, sending forth the bitterest protests 
against the abuse of dramatic composition ; and the recent 
catastrophes at both the Patent Theatres provided an appropriate 
text for all who chose to deprecate stage plays. Mrs. Inch- 
bald's remarks on Mr. Plumptre's sermons will not altogether 
displease a broad-minded divine of our own day, 

Mrs. Inclihald to the Rev. J. Plum'ptve. 

Sir, — I should have acknowledged the favour of your letter 
much sooner, but that I have been ambitious to add a few obser- 
vations, in compliance with your request, to that vast catalogue 
of facts which you have so charitably produced in defence of the 
drama. It appears to me, however, that you have left so little to 
be said in addition to your arguments, that I almost despair of a 
future volume from you ; and in all my endeavours to aid the 
cause, I have no more than the following remarks to offer. 

My first is, — that the disgrace imputed to the actor's profession 
seems to have been a kind of preservative against every otUer dis- 
grace — at least against that worst of ignominies which attaches to 
every offence punishable Ijy law. From murder down to forgery 
or petty larceny — from high treason down to sedition or even dis- 
affection to the royal cause — all English actors are allowed to have 
been free. The misdeeds of actors are at least refined ; not of that 
atrocious nature into which men of all classes, they alone excepted, 
seem at some time or other to have fallen. 

My second observation is, — the enemies of the Stage make 
no reference to the age in which certain immoral and licentious 
plays were written ; but condemn those plays as if they were 
written in the present day, and performed with all those vile 
scenes which are now omitted in representation, and which 
were neither sinful nor shameful at the time of their produc- 
tion; for they merely spoke the language and gave the man- 
ners of the times. Delicacy had not, at that period, augmented 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS^. 349 

the number of our enjoyments and transgressions, by imposing its 
present laws of refinement. A quotation from Mr. Warton will 
best explain the meaning I would convey in this observation. 
After having noticed some very indecorous scene in an ancient 
drama, where the patriarch Noah and his wife are the principal 
pei-sonages, the critic observes : * Our ancestors intended no 
sort of imi)iety by these monstrous unnatural mixtures. Neither 
the writers nor the spectators saw their impropriety. They had 
no just idea of decorum, consequently but little sense of the ridicu- 
lou'^ : what appears to us to be the highest burlesque upon these 
charactei*s, made no sort of impression in those days.' 

Having brought my two observations into a smaller space than 
I apprehended I should do, permit me now to say, in reply to that 
part of your letter in which you distinguish between the effects of 
seriousness and levity in the utterance of language dangerous to 
the hciirer, — that I can by no means consider levity as possessing 
any peculiar allurement to the passion commonly called Love. 

For, as far as every serious description must impress our hearts 
and our understanding more deejdy than a jocular one, so far I 
conceive there may be danger in those very warnings, however 
gi-avely delivered, which the fall of David and other holy persons 
in the Old Testament are meant to impart. The awfu; consequences 
which followed guilt in the unlawful loves of the Jews, will no 
doubt alarm ; but they will also awaken the mind to the contem- 
plation of those crimes so dearly purchased ; and the magnitude of 
the temptation can in no way be so forcibly described, as by the mag- 
nitude of the punishment, which was sure to overtake the unhappy 
sinner, and yet was so often braved by the very favourites of 
Heaven. 

But writings that are familiar to us lose ver}^ often (as other 
familiar things do) their natural effect ; for I sincerely believe that 
many an actor woidd blush to read all the adventures of the 
Jewish i^eople before an actress whom he esteemed, as much as an 
ecclesiastic would be ashamed to recite one of our most licentious 
comedies before the woman whom he wished to make his wife. 
]\Iy veneration for the Sacred History is in no shape diminished 
by this oi)inion ; but my respect for the cavillers at plays is wholly 
overcome or destroyed by it. 

There is a quotiition in vour work wherein Gisborne will not 



350 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

admit on the stage even allusions offensive to modesty. This would 
seem highly proper, and every one would agree in such taste for 
purity did not the comparison of the * beam and the mote ' force 
itself upon recollection, and give rise to the suspicion, that he con- 
ceives there is a prerogative in indelicacy which only belongs to the 
Christian Church. 

Dear Sir, your most obliged humble servant, 

E. Inchbald. 

P.S. — If I were asked by an illiterate foreigner to explain to him 
the exact meaning of our word delicacy, I would conclude my defi- 
nition by saying : — 'And this very Delicacy is at present all the 
fashion ; and the most beautiful and becoming fashion it is that ever 
was followed. The grave and the good are loudest in its praise ; 
but no one loves and admires it so much as the Libertine. It is 
the lure to his pleasures and heightens all their gratifications. It 
conceals, as with a veil, all the vices of the artful wanton, and sup- 
plies her with bonds to secure the paramour whom delicacy has 
ensnared.' 



CC^^II. 

When Crabhe was struggling for literary employment in 
London, and found himself ou the verge of starvation, he ad- 
dressed this letter to Burke relying on the great statesman's 
reputation for philanthropy. The result was, * he went into 
Mr. Burke's room a poor young adventurer, and came out vir- 
tually secure of almost all the good fortune that afterwards 
fell to his lot.' AVho must not regret that his generous patron 
did not live 'to read ' The Borough ' and ' Sir Eustace Grey ? ' 

George Crahhe to Edmund Burhe. 

Sir, — I am sensible that I need even your talents to apologise 
for the freedom I now take ; but I have a plea which, however 
simply urged, will, with a mind like yours. Sir, procure me par- 
don : I am one of those outcasts on the world, who are without a 
friend, without employment, and without bread. Pardon me a 
short preface. I had a partial father, who gave me a better edu 
cation than his broken fortune would have allowed ; and a better 
than was necessary, as he could give me that only. I was de- 
signed for the profession of physic; but not having wherewithal to 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 351 

complete the requisite studies, tlie design but served to convince 
me of a parent's affection, and the error it had occasioned. In 
April last, I came to London with three pounds, and flattered my- 
self this would be sufficient to supply me with the common neces- 
saries of life, till my abilities should procure me more ; of these I 
had the highest opinion, and a poetical vanity contributed to my 
delusion. I knew little of the world, and had read books only : I 
wrote, and fancied perfection in my compositions, when I wanted 
bread they promised me affluence, and soothed me with dreams 
of reputation, whilst my appearance subjected me to contempt. 

Time, reflection, and want, have shown me my mistake. I 
see my trifles in that which I think the true light; and, whilst I 
deem them such, have yet the opinion that holds them superior to 
the common run of poetical publications. 

I had some knowledge of the late Mr. Nassau, the brother of 
Lord E-ochford ; in consequence of which, I asked his Lordship's 
permission to inscribe my little work to him. Knowing it to be 
free from all political allusions and personal abuse, it was no very 
material point to me to whom it was dedicated. His Lordship 
thought it none to him, and obligingly consented to my request. 
I was told that a subscription would be the more profitable 
method for me, and therefore endeavoured to circulate copies of 
the enclosed Proposals. 

I am afraid. Sir, I disgust you with this very dull narration, 
but believe me punished in the misery that occasions it. You will 
conclude, that, during this time, I must have been at more expense 
than I could afford ; indeed, the most parsimonious could not have 
avoided it. The printer deceived me, and my little business has 
had every delay. The people with whom I live perceive my situa- 
tion, and find me to be indigent and without friends. About ten 
days since, I was compelled to give a note for seven pounds, to 
avoid an arrest for about double that sum which I owe. I wrote 
to every friend I had, but my friends are poor likewise; the time 
of payment approached, and I ventured to represent my case to 
Lord Rochford. I begged to be credited for this sum till I received 
it of my subscribers, which I believe will be within one month : but 
to this letter I had no reply, and I have probably offended by my 
importunity. Having used every honest means in vain, I yester- 
day confessed my inability, and obtained, with much entreaty, and 



352 ENGLISH LETTEBS. [1700- 

as the greatest favour, a week's forbearance, when I am positively 
told, that I must pay the money, or prepare for a prison. 

You will guess the purpose of so long an introduction. I ap- 
peal to you. Sir, as a good, and, let me add, a great man. I have 
no other pretensions to your favour than that I am an unhappy 
one. It is not easy to support the thoughts of confinement ; and I 
am coward enough to dread such an end to my suspense. 

Can you, Sir, in any degree, aid me with propriety 1 Will you 
ask any demonstration of my veracity ? I have imposed upon my- 
self, but I have been guilty of no other imposition. Let me, if 
possible, interest your compassion. I know those of rank and 
fortune are teased with frequent petitions, and are compelled to re- 
fuse the requests even of those whom they know to bs iu distress : 
it is therefore, with a distant hope I ventured to solicit such 
favour; but you will forgive me, Sir, if you do not think proper 
to relieve. It is impossible that sentiments like yours can proceed 
from any but a humane and generous heart. 

I will call upon you, Sir, to-morrow, and if I ha,ve not the hap- 
piness to obtain credit with you, I must submit to my fate. My 
existence is a pain to myself, and every one near and dear to me 
are distressed in my distresses. 

My connections, once the source of happiness, now embitter the 
reverse of my fortune, and I have only to hope a speedy end to a 
life so unpromisingly begun : in which (though it ought not to be 
boasted of) I can reap some consolation from looking to the end of 
it. I am. Sir, with the greatest respect. 

Your obedient and most humble servant, 

George Ceabbe. 



covin. 

In the spring of 1782, when Edmund Burke was made a 
Privy Councillor and was appointed Paymaster-General of the 
forces in the second Rockingham Administration, Crahbe 
joined in the chorus of congratulation, and we may he sure his 
words were heartfelt. The post was the most lucrative in the 
Ministry, yielding in perquisites alone more than 25,000/. a year. 
This, with other wasteful expenditure, the new Minister swept 
away in an early measure of reform. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 353 

The Rev. George Crahhe to the Right lion. Edmund Burhe. 

Sir, — I have Jong delayed, though I much wished to write to 
you, not being willing to take up any part of your time with the 
impertinence of congratulation ; but I now feel that I had rather 
be thought an intruder on your patience, than not to be a partaker 
of the general joy. Most heartily, indeed, do I rejoice, being well 
assured that if the credit and happiness of this kingdom can be 
restored, the wisdom and virtues of my most honoured friend, and 
his friends, will bring forward so desirable an event ; and if not, 
it will be some satisfaction to find such men lost to the confidence 
of the people, who have so long demonstrated their incapacity to 
make a proper use of it. 

Having procured a successor to my curacies, I expect to be in 
town within a few days, — and for a few. I shall then hope once 
to see you ; not bearing to suppose that any honours, or business, 
or even the calls of my country, should make me totally forgotten ; 
for you have directed, assisted, adopted me ; and I caimot relin- 
quish the happiness your favour gives me. I will be still your 
son, and my portion shall be to rejoice in my father's honour. I 
am also, with the highest respect, and most earnest good wishes, 
Dear and excellent sir. 

Your greatly obliged and grateful servant, 

George Crabbe. 

CCIX. 

Godwin — "Wollstonecraft — Shelley. There is no more inte- 
resting chapter in modern literary history than that embodied in 
the memorials of the lives and relationship of these strange 
characters. Letters from the pen of each are necessarily 
inchided in this volume. Godwin had risen into fame by his 
political writings and his novel of ^ Caleb Williams,' before he 
married Mary Wollstonecraft. She died in childbed Sept, 1797. 
The daughter of the marriage was wedded to the poet Shelley. 
In 1798 Godwin edited the posthumous works of his wife, and 
soon after visited his friend Curran in Ireland. The great Irish 
barrister is thus brought before us. 

William Godwin to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 

Dublin : September, 1800. 
Dear Coleridge, — You scarcely expected a letter from me of 
the above date. But I rec3ived last September an invitation from 



354 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

John Philpot Curran, the Irish barrister, probably the first advo- 
cate in Europe, then in London, to spend a few weeks with him in 
Ireland this summer, which I did not feel in myself philosophy 
enough to resist. Nor do I repent my compliance. The advantages 
one derives from placing the sole of one's foot on a foreign soil 
are extremely great. Few men, on such an occasion, think it 
■worth their while to put on armour for your encounter. I know 
Fox and Sheridan, but can scarce consider them as my acquaint- 
ance. Your next door neighbour, before he admits you to his 
familiarity, considers how far he should like to have you for his 
familiar for the next seven years. But familiarity with a foreign 
guest involves no such consequences, and so circumstanced, you 
are immediately admitted on the footing of an inmate. I am now 
better acquainted with Grattan and Curran, the Fox and Sheridan 
of Ireland, after having been four weeks in their company, than I 
can pretend ever to have been with their counterparts on my 
native soil. 

Curran I admire extremely. There is scarcely the man on 
earth with whom I ever felt myself so entirely at my ease, or so 
little driven back, from time to time, to consider of my own miser- 
able individual. He is perpetually a staflf and a cordial, without 
ever affecting to be either. The being never lived who was more 
perfectly free from every species of concealment. With great 
genius, at least a rich and inexhaustible imagination, he never 
makes me stand in awe of him, and bow as to my acknowledged 
superior, a thing by-the-by which, de temjjs a d^ autre, you compel 
me to do. He amiises me always, astonishes me often, yet 
natm-ally and irresistibly inspires me with confidence. I am apt, 
particularly when away from home, to feel forlorn and dispirited. 
The two last days I spent from him, and though they were em- 
ployed most enviably in tete a tete with Grattan, I began to feel 
dejected and home-sick. But Curran has joined me to-day, and 
poured into my bosom a full portion of his irresistible kindness 
and gaiety. 

You will acknowledge these are extraordinary traits. Yet* 
Curran is far from a faultless and perfect character. Immersed 
for many years in a pei-petual whirl of business, he has no pro- 
foundness or philosophy. He has a great share of the Irish cha- 
racter — dashing, etoui^diy coarse, vulgar, impatient, fierce, kittenish, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 355 

He has no characteristic delicacy, no intuitive and instant com- 
merce with the sublime features of nature. Ardent in a memor- 
able degi-ee, and a patriot from the most generous impulse, he 
has none of that political chemistry which Burke so admirably 
describes (I forget his words), that resolves and combines, and 
embraces distant nations and future ages. He is inconsistent in 
the most whimsical degree. I remember, in an amicable debate 
with Sheridan, in which Sheridan far outwent him in refinement, 
■ penetration, and taste, he three times surrendered his arms, 
acknowledged his error, yea, even began to declaim (for declama- 
tion is too frequently his mania) on the contrary side : and as often, 
after a short interval, resumed his weapons, and renewed the 
combat. Now and then, in the career of declamation, he becomes 
tautological and ineffective, and I ask myself : Is this the prophet 
that he went forth to see ! But presently after he stumbles 
upon a rich vein of imagination, and recognises my willing suf- 
frage. He has the reputation of insincerity, for which he is in- 
debted, not to his heart, but to the mistaken, cherished calculations 
of his j)racticai prudence. He maintains in argument that you 
ought never to inform a man, directly or indirectly, of the high 
esteem in which you hold him. Yet, in his actual intercourse, he 
is apt to mix the information too copiously and too often. But 
perhaps Lis greatest fault is, that though endowed with an energy 
the most ardent, and an imagination the most varied and pic- 
turesque, there is nothing to which he is more prone, or to which 
his inclination more wilhngly leads him, than to play the buffoon. 



OCX. 

Nt) cue more than Percy Bysshe Shelley needed the piece of 
wholesome advice which his father-in-law vouchsafed him in 
the following letter. William Godwin proclaimed himself a 
republican and a philanthropist in 1793, and first came into 
notoriety by his treatise called ' Political Justice.' That he did 
not figure with many of his political friends in the State trials 
which disgraced our courts of justice in 1794 is due to his strict 
observance of the principles of action which he here enunciates 
to the young democrat. 



356 NEGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

William Godioin to Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

Marcli4, 1812. 

My good friend, — I have read all your letters (the first per- 
haps excepted) with peculiar interest, and I wish it to be under- 
stood by you unequivocally that, as far as I can yet penetrate into 
your character, I conceive it to exhibit an extraordinary assemblage 
of lovely qualities not without considerable defects. The defects 
do, and always have arisen chiefly from this source, that you are 
still very young, and that in certain essential respects you do not 
sufficiently perceive that you are so. 

In your last letter you say, ' I publish because I will publish 
nothing that shall not conduce to virtue, and therefore my publica- 
tions, as far as they do influence, shall influence for good.' 

Oh, my friend, how short-sighted are the views that dictated 
this sentence ! Every man, in every deliberate action of his life, 
imagines he sees a preponderance of good likely to result. This 
is the law of our nature, from which none of us can escape. 
You do not in this point generically differ from the human 
beings about you. Mr. Burke and Tom Paine, when they wrote 
on the French Revolution, perhaps equally believed that the 
sentiments they supported were essentially conducive to the wel- 
fare of man. When Mr. Walsh resolved to purloin to his own 
use a few thousand pounds, with which to settle himself and his 
family and children in America, he tells us that he was for some 
time anxious that the effects of his fraud should fall upon Mr. 
Oldham rather than upon Sir Thomas Plumer, because, in his 
opinion, Sir Thomas was the better man. And I have no doubt 
that he was fully persuaded that a greater sum of happiness would 
result from these thousand pounds being employed in settling his 
innocent and lovely family in America, than in securing to his 
employer the possession of a large landed estate. . . . 

In the pamphlet you have just sent me, your views and mine as 
to the improvement of mankind are decisively at issue. You pro- 
fess the immediate objects of your efforts to be ' the organisation of 
a society whose institution shall serve as a bond to its members.' 
If I may be allowed to understand my book on Political Justice, 
its pervading principle is, that association is a most ill-chosen and 
ill-qualified mode of endeavouring to promote the political hap- 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 357 

piness of mankind. And I think of your pamphlet, however com- 
mendable and lovely are many of its sentiments, that it will either 
be ineffective to its immediate object, or that it has no very remote 
tendency to light again the flames of rebellion and war. . . . 

Discussion, reading, enquiry, perpetual communication : these 
are my favourite methods for the improvement of mankind, but 
associations, organized societies, I firmly condemn. You may as 
well tell the adder not to r.ting : 

' You may as well use question with the wolf: 
You ma}^ as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise 
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven !* 

as tell organized societies of men, associated to obtain their rights 
and to extinguish oppression, — prompted by a deep aversion to 
inequality, luxury, enormous taxes, and the evils of war, — to be 
innocent, to employ no violence, and calmly to await the progress 
ol" truth. I never was at a public political dinner, a scene that I 
have now not witnessed for many years, that I did not see how 
the enthusiasm was lighted up, how the flame caught from man 
to man, how fast the dictates of sober reason were obliterated by the 
gusts of passion, and how near the assembly was, like Alexander's 
compotatores at Persepolis, to go forth and fire the city, or, like 
the auditors of Anthony's oration over the body of Csesar, to apply 
a flaming brand to the mansion of each several conspirator. 

Discussion and conversation on the best interests of society are 
excellent as long as they are unfettered, and each man talks to his 
neighbour in the freedom of congenial intercourse as he happens 
to meet with him in the customary haunts of men, or in the quiet 
and beneficent intercourse of each other's fireside. But they 
become unwholesome and poisonous when men shape themselves 
into societies, and become distorted with the artifices of organiza- 
tion. It will not then long be possible to reason calmly and dis- 
passionately : men will heat each other into impatience and indig- 
nation against their oppressors ; they will become tired of talking 
for ever, and will be in a hurry to act. If this view of things is 
true, applied to any country whatever, it is peculiarly and fearfully 
so when applied to the fervent and impetuous character of the 
Irish. . . , 



35S ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

One principle that I believe is wanting in you, and in all our 
too fervent and impetuous reformers, is the thought that almost 
every institution and form of society is good in its place and in 
the period of time to which it bslongs. How many beautiful and 
admirable effects grew out of Popery and the monastic institutions 
in the period when they were in their genuine health and vigour. 
To them we owe almost all our logic and our literature. What ex- 
cellent effects do we reap, even at this day, from the feudal system 
and from chivalry ! In this point of view nothing perhaps can 
be more worthy of our applause than the English Constitution. 
Excellent to this purpose are the words of Daniel in his Apology 
for Rhyme ; ' Nor can it touch but of arrogant ignorance, to hold 
this or that nation barbarous, these or those times gross, con- 
sidering how this manifold creature man, wheresoever he stand in 
the world, hath always some disposition of worth, entertains and 
effects that order of society which is best for his use, and is 
eminent for some one thing or other that fits his humour and the 
times.' This is the truest and most sublime toleration. There is 
a period, indeed, when each institution is obsolete, and should be 
laid aside ; but it is of much importance that we should not pro- 
ceed too rapidly in this, or introduce any change before its due 
and proper season. . . . 

You say that you count but on a short life. In that too you 
are erroneous. I shall not live to see you fourscore, but it is 
not improbable that my son will. I was myself in early life of a 
remarkably puny constitution. Pope, who was at all times kept 
alive only by art, reached his fifty-seventh year. The constitution 
of man is a theatre of change, and I think it not improbable that 
at thirty or forty you will be a robust man. . . . 

To descend from great things to small, I can perceive that you 
are already iufected with the air of the country [Ireland]. Your 
letter with its enclosures cost me by post £1 \s. 8d., and you 
say in it that you ' send it in this way to save expense.' The post 
always charges parcels that exceed a sheet or two by weight, and 
they should therefore always be forwarded by some other con- 
veyance. , . • 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 359 



CCXI. 

Referring to tlie following letter in liis * Life of Godwin/ Mr. 
C. Kegan Paul remarks : — ' The stoicism which is so admirable 
in repressing his own feelings, is less beautiful when used to con- 
dole with jMts. Shelley on the death of her child. It is fair to 
remark, however, that he is dealing with his daughter as he 
would have desired men should deal with him had he given way 
to what, had he indulged it, he would have considered a blame- 
able weakness.' 

William Godwin to Mrs. Shelley. 

Skinner Street : September 9, 1819. 

My dear Mary, — Your letter of August 19 is very grievous to 
me, inasmuch as you represent me as increasing the degree of 
your uneasiness and depression. 

You must, however, allow me the privilege of a father, and a 
philosopher, in expostulating witli you on this depression. I can- 
not but consider it as lowering your character in a memoralde 
degree, and putting you quite among the commonality and mob of 
youi- sex, when I had thought I saw in you symptoms entitling 
you to be ranked among those noble spirits that do honour to our 
nature. What a falling oiF is here ! How bitterly is so inglorious 
a change to be deplored. ! 

What is it you want that you have not 1 You have the hus- 
band of your choice, to whom you seem to be uiialterably attached, 
a man of high intellectual attainments, whatever I, and some other 
persons, may think of his morality, and the defects under this last 
head, if they be not (as you seem co think) imaginary, at least do 
not operate as towards you. You have all the goods of fortune, 
all the means of being useful to others, and shining in your 
proper sphere. But you have lost a child : and all the rest of the 
world, all that is beautiful, and all that has a claim upon your 
kindness, is nothing, because a child of two years old is dead. 

The human species may be divided into two great classes : 
those who lean on others for suj^port, and those who are qualified 
to support. Of these last, some have one, some five, and some ten 
talents. Some can support a husband, a child, a small but respect- 
able circle of friends and dependents, and some can support a 
world, contributing by their energies to advance their whole 



860 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

species one or more degrees in the scale of perfectibility. The 
former class sit with their arms crossed, a prey to apathy and 
languor, of no use to any earthly creature, and ready to fall from 
their stools if some kind soul, who might compassionate, but who 
cannot respect them, did not come from moment to moment, and 
endeavour to set them up again. You were formed by nature to 
belong to the best of these classes, but you seem to be shrinking 
away, and voluntarily enrolling yourself among the worst. 

Above all things, I entreat you, do not put the miserable de- 
lusion on yourself, to think there is something fine, and beautiful, 
and delicate, in giving yourself up, and agreeing to be nothing. 

Remember, too, that though at first your nearest connections 
may pity you in this state, yet that when they see you fixed in 
selfishness and ill-humour, and regardless of the happiness of every- 
one else, they will finally cease to love you, and scarcely learn to 
endure you. 

The other parts of your letter afford me much satisfaction. 
Depend upon it, there is no maxim more true or more important 
than this, Frankness of communication takes off bitterness. . . . 
True philosophy invites all communication, and withholds none. 



CCXII 

At the age of forty-three the marvellous poet and painter in. 
whom the last revival of English art began, had already 
wrapped himself completely in those golden webs of mysticism 
which at once obscured and illuminated his strange thoughts and 
words. He had come down to Felpham a few days before the 
date of this letter, to be near his friend and patron Ilayley. 

William Blake to John Flaxman. 

Felpham : September 21, 1800. 
Dear Sculptor of Eternity, — We are safe arrived at our cot- 
tage, which is more beautiful than I thought it, and more con- 
venient. It is a perfect model for cottages, and I think for palaces 
of magnificence, only enlarging not altering its proportions and 
adding ornaments and not principles. Nothing can be more grand 
than its simplicity and usefulness. Simple without intricacy, it 
seems to be the spontaneous expression of humanity, congenial to 
the wants of man. No other formed house can ever please me so 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 361 

well, nor shall I ever be persuaded, I believe, that it can be im- 
proved either in beauty or use. 

Mr. Hayley received us with his usual brotherly affection. I 
have begun to work. Felpham is a sweet place for study, because 
it is more spiritual than London. Heaven opens here on all sides 
her golden gates : her windows are not obstructed by vapours ; 
voices of celestial inhabitants are more distinctly heard and their 
forms more distinctly seen; and my cottage is also a shadow 
of their houses. My wife and sister are both well, courting 
Neptune for an embrace. 

Our journey was very pleasant, and though we had a great 
deal of luggage no grumbling. All was cheerfulness and good 
humour on the road, and yet we could not arrive at our cottage 
before half past eleven at night, owing to the necessary shifting of 
our luggage from one chaise to another, for we had seven dif- 
ferent chaises and as many different drivers. We set out between 
six and seven in the morning of Thursday, with sixteen heavy 
boxes and portfolios full of prints. 

And now begins a new life, because another covering of earth 
is shaken off. I am more famed in heaven for my works than I 
could well conceive. In my brain are studies and chambers filled 
with books and pictures of old, which I wrote and painted in ages 
of eternity before my mortal life ; and those works are the delight 
and study of archaugels. Why then should I be anxious about 
the riches and fame of mortality "? The Lord our Father will do 
for us and with us according to his divine will. 

You, dear Elaxman, are a sublime archangel, — my friend 
and companion from eternity. In the divine bosom is our dwell- 
ing-place. I look back into the regions of reminiscence, and 
behold our a;ncient days before this earth appeared in its vegetative 
mortality to my mortal vegetated eyes. I see our houses of eter- 
nity which can never be separated, though our mortal vehicles 
should stand at the remotest corners of heaven from each other. 

Farewell, my best Friend ; — remember me and my wife in love 
and friendship to our dear Mrs. Flaxman, whom we ardently 
desire to entertain beneath our thatched roof of rusted gold. And 
believe me for ever to remain 

Your grateful and affectionate 

William Blake. 



362 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CCXIII. 

It will Le remembered tliat in a series of articles (now col- 
lected) originally contributed to 'Blackwood's Magazine,' 
entitled * Homer and his Translators,' Professor Wilson criti- 
cised in his usual spirited and affable manner, the relative merits 
of the versions of Chapman, Dryden, Tickel, Pope, Cowper, and 
Sotheby. Three articles had appeared up to July 1831, in each 
of which Sotheby's work received its fair share of approbation. 
This may account for the extreme impatience for further acknow- 
ledgments of his merits. But why have importuned the critic 
so early as October for matter only promised for Christmas, and 
■which actually appeared in the December number ? 

William Sothehy to Professor Wilson. 

13 Lower Grosvenor Place : October 8, 1831. 

My Dear Sir, — One month, two months, three months' grievous 
disappointment, intolerable disappointment, Homer and his tail, 
Chapman, Pope, and Sotheby in dim eclipse. What becomes of 
the promise solemnly given to the public, that the vases of good 
and evil impartially poured forth by your balancing hand, w*ere 
ere Christmas to determine our fate ? I long doubted whether I 
should trouble you with a letter, but the decided opinion of our 
friend Lockhart decided me. 

And now hear, I pray, in confidence, why I am peculiarly 
anxious for the completion of your admirable remarks. 

I propose, ere long, to publish the Odyssey, and shall gratify 
m3^self by sending you, as a specimen of it, the eleventh book. It 
Avill contain, inter alia, a sop for the critics, deeply soaked in the 
blood of a fair heifer and a sable ram, and among swarms of sp)irits, 
the images of the heroes of the Iliad, completing the tale of Troy 
divine. After the publication of the Odyssey, it is my intent, by the 
utmost diligence and labour, to correct the Iliad, and to endeavour 
to render it less unworthy of the praise you have been pleased to 
confer on it. Of your praise I am justly proud ; yet for my future 
object, I am above measure desirous of the benefit of your cen- 
sures. The remarks (however flattering) with which I have been 
honoured by others, are less valuable to me than your censures ; 
of this, the proof will be evident in the subsequent edition. You 
must not, you cannot leave your work incomplete. How resist 



1800] ENGLISH LETTEJRS. 363 

the night expedition of Diomede and Ulysses % — Hector bursting 
the rampart — Juno and the Cestus — Hector rushing on, like the 
stalled horse snapping the cord — The death of Sarpedon — The 
consternation of the Trojans at the mere appearance of the armed 
Achilles — The Yulcanian armour — Achilles mourning over Patro- 
clns — The conclusion of the twentieth book — The lamentations of 
Priam, and Hecuba, and, above all, of Andromache — Priam at the 
feet of Achilles — Andromache's lamentation, and Helen's (oh, that 
lovely Helen !) over the corse of Hector — can these and innume- 
rable other passages be resisted by the poet of the City of the 
Plague ? No, no, no. 

In sooth, I must say, I had hope that at Christmas I might 
have collected, and printed for private distribution, or, far rather 
published, for public delight and benefit, with your express per- 
mission, the several critiques in one body, and then presented to 
the world a work of criticism unparalleled. 

I dine this day at Lockh art's, with my old and dear friend, Sir 
Walter, His health has improved since his arrival. Perhaps 
your cheeks may burn. I beg the favour of hearing from you. — 
I remain, iny dear Sir, most sincerely yours, 

"Wm. Sotheby. 

COXIV. 

Writing six weeks after the event, Nelson somewhat 
casually refers to the woimds he received during the siege of the 
strong fortress of Calvi. As no mention was made of his loss of 
an eye in the public list of wounded, he drew Admiral Hood's 
attention to the omission on the 2nd Oct. following, remarking, 
* I do not think that bis Majesty will consider that I sufiered the 
less pain from the determination to do my duty in twenty-four 
hours after the accident, that those laborious duties entrusted by 
your lordship to my direction might not slacken.' 

Horatio Nelson to Mi^s. JSfelson. 

Off Leghorn : August 18, 1794. 
I left Calvi on the 15th, and hope never to be in it again. I 
was yesterday in St. Fiorenzo, and to-day shall be safe moored, I 
expect, in Leghorn : since the Ship has been commissioned, this 
will be the first resting time we have had. As it is all past, 1 
may now tell you, that on the 10th of July, a shot having hit our bat- 
tery, the splinters and stones from it struck me with great violence 



361 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

in the face and breast. Although the blow was so severe as to occa- 
sion a great flow of blood from my head, yet I, most fortunately, 
escaped, having only my right eye nearly deprived of its sight : it 
was cut down, but is so far recovered, as for me to be able to dis- 
tinguish light from darkness. As to all the purposes of use, it is 
gone ; however, the blemish is nothing, not to be perceived, unless 
told. The pupil is nearly the size of the blue part, I don't know 
the name. At Bastia, I got a sharp cut in the back. You must 
not think that my hurts confined me : no, nothing but the loss of 
a limb would have kept me from my duty, and I believe my 
exertions conduced to preserve me in this general mortality. I 
am fearful that Mrs. Mout ray's son, who was on shore with us 
will fall a sacrifice to the climate ; he is a Lieutenant of the 
Victory, a very fine young man, for whom I have a great regard. 
Lord Hood is quite distressed about him. Poor little Hoste is 
also extremely ill, and I have great fears about him ; one hundred 
and fifty of my people are in their beds ; of two thousand men I 
am the most healthy. Josiah is very well, and a clever smart 
young man, for so I must call him, his sense demands it. 

Yours, (tc. 

Horatio Nelson, 



coxv. 

On July 15, 1795, Nelson was sent with a squadron to co- 
operate with the Austrian General De Vins, against the French on 
the coast of Genoa, and on August 11 he was appointed a Coni- 
modore. During the ensuing moutlis he was chietly employed in 
watching the Mediterranean coast line from Leghorn to Toulon. 

Commodore Nelson to J/r5. Nelson. 

Off Leghorn : August 2, 1796. 
Had all my actions, my dearest Fanny, been gazetted, not one 
fortnight would have passed during the whole war without a letter 
from me : one day or other I will have a long Gazette to myself; 
I feel that such an opportunity will be given me. I cannot, if I 
am in the field for glory, be kept out of sight. Probably my ser- 
vices ma}' be forgotten by the great, by the time I get home ; but 
my mind w^ill not forget, nor cease to feel, a degree of consolation 
a]3d of applause superior to undeserved rewards. Wherever there 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 363 

is anything to be done, there Providence is sure to direct my steps. 
Credit must be given me in spite of envy. Even the French respect 
mc : their Minister at Genoa, in answering a note of mine, when 
returning some wearing apparel that had been taken, said, ' Your 
Nation, Sir, and mine, are made to show examples of generosity as 
well as of valour, to all the people of the earth.' I will also relate 
another anecdote, all vanity to myself, but you will partake of it. 
A person sent me a letter, and directed as follows, ' Horatio Nel- 
son, Genoa.' On being asked how he could direct in such a man- 
ner, his answer, in a large party, was, ' Sir, there is but one 
Horatio Nelson in the World.' The letter certainly came imme- 
diately. At Genoa, where I have stopped all their trade, I am 
beloved and respected, both by the Senate and lower order. If 
any man is fearful of his vessel being stopped, he comes and asks 
me ; if I give him a Paper, or say, * All is right,' he is contented. 
I am known throughout Italy ; not a Kingdom, or State, where 
my name will be forgotten. This is my Gazette. 

Lord Spencer has expressed his sincere desire to Sir John 
Jervis, to give me my Flag. You ask me when I shall come 
home 1 I believe, when either an honourable peace is made, or a 
Spanish war, which may draw our Fleet out of the Mediterranean. 
God knows I shall come to you not a sixpence richer than 
when I set out. I had a letter a few days since from H.R.H. the 
Duke of Clarence, assuring me of his unalterable friendship. With 
kindest love to my father, believe me your most affectionate 
husband, 

Horatio Nelsox. 



CCXYI. 

Sir John Jervis' splendid fight off Cape St. Yincent took 
place on 'the most glorious Yalentine's Day, 1797.' Nelson's 
sldp the ' Captain ' was so much damaged that on the following 
day he shifted his Broad Pendant to the * Irresistible ; ' and a 
week after he was appointed Rear- Admiral of the Blue. Nothing 
in naval warfare ever surpassed the action of Nelson's ship dur- 
ing t'lis battle. It is said that a more glorious group was never 
witnessed than that of the ' Captain,' a wreck in hull and masts, 
with a tight grip on her two magnificent prizes, the ' St. Nicolas * 
and ' St. Josef.' 
17 



366 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



Commodore Nelson to the Hon. Sir Gilbert Elliot. 

Irresistible : February 16, 1797. 

My dear Sir, — Your affectionate and flattering letter is, I assure 
you, a sufficient reward for doing (what to me was a pleasui-e) my 
duty. My Admiral and others in the Fleet think the same as 
you do of my conduct. To receive the swords of the vanquished, 
on the quarter-deck of a Spanish First-rate, can seldom fall to the 
good fortune of any man. Miller is doing for you two sketches of 
the action, sufficient, I am sure, to please you, from your know- 
ledge of its correctness. 

You will now, I am sure, think me an odd man, but still I 
hope you will agi^ee with me in opinion, and if you can be instru- 
mental in keeping back what I expect will happen, it will be an 
additional obligation, for very far is it from my disposition to hold 
light the Honours of the Crown ; but I conceive to take hereditary 
Honours without a fortune to support the dignity, is to lower that 
Honour it would be my pride to support in proper splendour. On 
the 1st of June,^ 12th of April,^ and other glorious days. Baronetage 
has been bestowed on the Junior Flag Officers : this Honour is 
what I dread, for the reasons before given, and which I wish a 
friend to u^-ge for me to Lord Spencer, or such other of his Majes- 
ty's Ministers as are supposed to advise the Crown. There are 
other Honours, which die with the possessor, and I should be 
proud to accept, if my efforts are thought worthy of the favour of 
my King. May health and every blessing attend you, and I pray 
for your speedy passage and a happy meeting with Lady Elliot and 
your family. And believe me ever, 

Your most obliged and faithful, 

Horatio Nelson". 



CCXVII. 

During the unsuccessful attack on the town of Santa Cruz, in 
the Island of Teneriffe, on July 24, 1797, Nelson had his right 
arm shot off; and we may gather from the three short letters 
which follow, the Admiral apprehended that, minus an eye and 
an arm, he would be ' shelved' on his return to England. 

' June 1, 1794, Lord Howe's victory off Ushant, 

* April 12, 1782. Lord Rodney's victory over the Comte de Grasso. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 367 



Bear-Admiral Sir Horatio N'elson, K.B.,^ to Admiral 
Sir John Jervis, K.B. 

Theseus : July 27, 1797. 
My dear Sir, — I am become a burthen to my friends, and use- 
less to my Country; but by my letter wrote the 24tli you will per- 
ceive my anxiety for the promotion of my son-in-law, Josiah 
Nisbet. When I leave your command, I become dead to the 
World ; I go hence, and am no more seen. If from .poor Bowen's 
loss, you think it proper to oblige me, I rest confident you will do 
it ; the Boy is under obligations to me, but he repaid me by bring- 
ing me from the Mole of Santa Cruz. I hope you will be able to 
give me a frigate, to convey the remains of my carcase to England. 
God bless you, my dear Sir, and believe me, your most obliged and 
faithful, 

HoEATio Nelson. 

■ You will excuse my scrawl, considering it is my first attempt. 



CCXVIII. 

Bear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson^ K.B., to Admiral 
Sir John Jervis, K.B. 

Theseus : August 16, 1797. 
My dear Sir, — I rejoice once more in sight of your Flag, and 
with your permission will come on board the Yille de Paris, and 
pay you my respects. If the Emerald has joined, you know my 
wishes. A left-lianded Admiral will never again be considered as 
useful, therefore the sooner I get to a very humble cottage tlie 
better, and make room for a better man to serve the State; but 
whatever be my lot, believe me, with the most sincere affection, 
ever your most faithful 

HoEATio Nelson. 



Kelson appointed a Knight of the Bath, March, 1797. 



368 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CCXIX. 

Eear-Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B., to Lady Nelson. 

Theseus : August 1797. 
My dearest Fanny, — I am so confident of your affection, that I 
feel the pleasure you will receive will be equal, whether my letter 
is wrote by my right hand or left. It was the chance of war, and 
I have great reason to be thankful ; and I know that it will add 
much to youl- pleasure in finding that Josiah, under God's Provi- 
dence, was principally instrumental in saving my life. As to my 
health, it never was better ; and now I hope soon to return to 
you ; and my Country, I trust, will not allow me any longer to 
linger in want of that pecuniary assistance which I have been 
fighting the whole war to preserve to her. But I shall not be sur- 
prised to be neglected and forgot, as probably I shall no longer be 
considered as useful. However, I shall feel rich if I continue to 
enjoy your affection. The cottage is now more necessary than 
ever. You will see by the papers. Lieutenant Weatlieraead is 
gone. Poor fellow ! he lived four days after he was shot. I shall 
not close this letter till I join the Fleet, which seems distant; for 
it's been calm these three days past. I am fortunate in having a 
good surgeon on board ; in short, I am much more recovered than 
I could have expected. I beg neither you or my father will think 
much of this mishap : my mind has long been made up to such an 
event. God bless you, and believe me 

Your most affectionate husband, 

Horatio Nelson. 

ccxx. 

Some of Nelson's most characteristic letters were written 
during the year 1804, when, as Vice- Admiral of the White, 
Commanding-in-Chief in the Mediterranean, with his flag in the 
* Victory,' he was hoping to entice Admiral La Touche Treville 
out of the port of Toidon. The French ships gave a few false 
alarms, hut never once seriously confronted the English squadron. 
The postscript of the following letter sufficiently indicates Nel- 
son's just sense of indignation at Treville's false official report; 
wherein he states that our ships * bore away. I pursued him 
to the S.E. until night. In the morning at ''dayhght 1 saw no 
more of him.' 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 369 

Vice- Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B., to the Rev. Dr. Nelson. 

Victory : August 8, 1804. 
My clear Brotlier, — Mr. C. B. Yonge had joined the Victory 
long before your letter was wrote, and he is a very good, deserving 
young man, and when he has served his time, I shall take the 
earliest opportunity of putting him into a good vacancy ; but that 
will not be until October, the very finish, I expect, of my remain- 
ing here, for my health has suflered much since I left England, 
and if the A dmiralty do not allow me to get at asses' milk and rest, 
you will be a Lord before I intend you should. I am glad the 
wine was good and acceptable. I have been expecting Monsieur 
La Touche to give me the meeting every day for this year past, 
and only hope he will come out before I go hence. Kemember me 
kindly to Mrs. Nelson, and believe me ever, your most affectionate 
brother, 

Nelson and Bronte. 

You must excuse a short letter. You will have seen Monsieur 
La Touche's letter of how he chased me and how I ran. I keep it ; 
and, by God, if I take him, he shall Eat it ! 



CCXXL 

It required tbe indefatigable euergy and the lively sense of 
puhhc daty of a Nelson to withstand the anxieties and disappoint- 
ments of his command from June 1803 to July 1805. During 
these two years (less ten days), he did not set foot out of the 
* Victory.' The escape of the l^'rench fleet from Toulon, was a 
real affliction to him, and his pursuit, with only ten sail of the 
line, of the combined French and Spanish squadron to the 
"West Indies is, perhaps, the most creditable part of his match- 
less career. ' I am in truth half dead, but what man can do to 
find them out shall be done,' said he ; but misled by incorrect 
information he steered for Tobago as the enemy were returning 
to Europe via Martinique. 

Vice- Admiral Sir Horatio Nelson, K.B., to Alexander 
Davison, 

Victory: July 24, 1805. 
My dear Davison, — As all my letters have been sent to Eng- 
land, I know nothing of what is passing ; but I hope very, very 



370 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

soon to take you by the hand. I am as miseralDle as you can con- 
ceive. But for General Brereton's damned information, Nelson 
would have been, living or dead, the greatest man in his Profession 
that England ever saw. Now, alas ! I am nothing — perhaps shall 
incur censure for misfortunes which may happen, and have hap- 
pened. When I follow my own head, I am, in general, much 
more correct in my judgment, than following the opinion of others. 
I resisted the opinion of General Brereton's information till it 
would have been the height of presumption to have carried my 
disbelief further. I could not, in the face of Generals and Admi- 
rals, go N.W., when it was a'p'parently clear that the enemy had 
gone South. But I am miserable. I now long to hear that they 
are arrived in some Port in the Bay ; for until they are arrived 
somewhere, I can do nothing but fret. Then I shall proceed to 
England. I can say nothing, or think of anything, but the loss 
my Country has sustained by General Brereton's unfortunate, ill- 
timed, false information. God bless you : and believe me ever, 
my dear Davison, your most faithful and affectionate friend. 

Nelson and Bronte. 



CCXXII. 

On the morning of Oct. 19, 1805, the combined fleets of France 
and Spain left Cadiz Harbour, and the same afternoon Nelson 
knew that he would soon have an opportunity of encountering 
his enemy. This unfinished letter was found opened on his 
desk after the action, and was conveyed by Captain Hardy to 
Lady Hamilton, who wrote the following endorsement, *0h 
miserable and wretched Emma, oh, glorious and happy Nelson.' 

Lord Nelson to Lady Hamilton. 

Victory: October 19, 1805. 
Noon, Cadiz E.S.E. 16 leagues. 
My dearest beloved Emma, the dear friend of my bosom, the 
signal has been made that Enemy's Combined fleet are coming out 
of Port. We have very little Wind, so that I have no hopes of 
seeing them before to-morrow. May the God of Battles crown my 
endeavours with success, at all events I will take care that my 
name shall ever be most dear to you and Horatia, both of whom I 
love as much as my own life, and as my last writing before the 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 371 

battle will be to you, so I hope in God that I shall live to finish 
my letter after the Battle ; may Heaven bless you prays your Nel- 
son and Bronte. Oct. 20th in the morning we were close to the 
mouth of the Streights, but the wind had not come far enough to 
the westward to allow the Combined fleets to weather the shoals 
off Trafalgar, but they were counted as far as forty sail of Ships of 
War which I suppose to be thirty-four of the Line and six frigates, a 
group of them were seen off the Lighthouse of Cadiz this morning 
but it blows so very fresh, and thick weather, that I rather believe 
they will go into the Harbour before night. May God Almighty 
give us success over these fellows and enable us to get a Peace. 



coxxni. 

It was a servant in a family on Cessnoch Water who inspired 
Burns with several of his best lyrics, with 'Montgomery's 
Pego-y,' with ' Bonny Peggy Alison ' and with ' Now western 
winds.' 

Moreover, it was she to whom the following fine love- 
letter was addressed. No one was a better student than Burns 
of what one of our old dramatists has styled ' the red-leaved 
and confused book of the heart,' and, rough as he was, his na- 
ture melted at oiice into a most indulgent tenderness at the 
slightest appeal from womanhood. The young woman in this 
case would not entertain the poet's suit, but she herself con- 
fessed that it ' cost her some heartaches to get rid of the afiair.' 

Robert Burns to Miss Ellison Beghie. 

Lochlea: 1783. 
I verily believe, my dear E., that the pure genuine feelings of 
love are as rare in the world as the pure genuine principles of vir- 
tue and piety. This I hope will account for the uncommon style 
of all my letters to you. By uncommon, I mean their being writ- 
ten in such a hasty manner, which to tell you the truth, has made 
me often afraid lest you should take me for some zealous bigot, 
who conversed with his mistress as he would converse with his 
minister. I don't know how it is, my dear, for though, except 
your company, there is nothing on earth gives me so much 
pleasure as writing to you, yet it never gives me those giddy rap- 
tures so much talked of among lovers. I have often thought that 
if a well-grounded affection be not really a part of virtue 'tis 



372 -ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

somefcLing extremely akin to it. Whenever the thought of my E. 
warms my heart, every feeling of humanity, every principle of 
generosity kindles in my breast. It extinguishes every dirty spark 
of malice and envy which are but too apt to infest me. I grasp 
every creature in the arms of universal benevolence, and equally 
participate in the pleasures of the happy, and sympathize with the 
miseries of the unfortunate. I assure you, my dear, I often look up 
to the Divine Disposer of events with an eye of gratitude for the 
blessing which I hope he intends to bestow on me in bestowing 
you. I sincerely wish that he may bless my endeavours to make 
your life as comfortable and happy as possible, both in sweetening 
the rougher parts of my natural temper, and bettering the un- 
kindly circumstances of my fortune. This, my dear, is a passion, 
at least in my view, worthy of a man, and I will add worthy of a 
Christian. The sordid earth-worm may profess love to a woman's 
person, whilst in reality his affection is centered in her pocket ; 
and the slavish drudge may go a-wooing as he goes to the horse- 
market to choose one who is stout and firm, and as we may say of 
an old horse, one who will be a good drudge and draw kindly. I 
disdain their dirty puny ideas. I would be heartily out of humour 
with myself, if I thought I were capable of having so poor a notion 
of the sex, which were designed to crown the pleasures of society. 
Poor devils ! I don't envy them their happiness who have such 
notions. For my part I propose quite other pleasures with my 
dear partner. 

R. B. 

COXXIV. 

There are few documents in the history of literature more 
pathetic, when we consider the result, than this simple letter of 
business. 

JRohert Burns to the Earl of Glencairn. 

Edinburgh: 1787. 
My Lord, — I know your lordship will disapprove of my ideas 
in a request I am going to make to you; but I have weighed, long 
and seriously weighed, my situation, my hopes and turn of mind, 
and am fully fixed to my scheme if I can possibly effectuate it. I 
wish to get into the Excise. I am told that your lordship's inte- 
rest will easily procure me the grant from the Commissioners ; and 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 373 

your lordship's patronage and goodness, which have already rescued 
me from obscurity, wretchedness, and exile, embolden me to ask 
that interest. You ha\^e likewise put it in my power to save the 
little tie of home that sheltered an aged mother, two brothers, and 
three sisters from destruction. There, my lord, you have bound 
me over to the highest gratitude. My brother's farm is but a 
wretched lease, but I think he will probably weather out the re- 
maining seven years of it ; and after the assistance which I have 
gis^en and will give him, to keep the family together, I think, by 
my guess, I shall have rather better than two hundred pounds, 
and instead of seeking what is almost impossible at present to find, 
a farm that I can certainly live by, with so small a stock, I shall 
lodge this sum in a banking-house, a sacred deposit, excepting only 
the calls of uncommon distress or necessitous old age. 

These, my lord, are my views : I have resolved from the ma- 
turest deliberation ; and now I am fixed, I shall leave no stone 
unturned to carry my resolve into execution. Your lordship's 
patronage is the strength of my hopes ; nor have I yet applied to 
any body else. Indeed my heart sinks within me at the idea of 
applying to any other of the great who have honoured me with 
theii- countenance. I am ill-qualified to dog the heels of greatness 
with the impertinence of solicitation, and tremble nearly as much 
at the thought of the cold promise as the cold denial ; but to your 
lordship I have not only the honour, the comfort, but the pleasure 
of being 

Your lordship's much obliged 
And deeply indebted humble servant, 

B. B. 



CCXXV. 

The humanity of Burns is perhaps the most striking- of all hig 
great qualities. We have had lyric poets as tine, wits as brilliant, 
but we have scarcely had another man of imaginative genius so 
near to us in all the common feelings of the heart. So true a 
man is he, so unafiected in his laughter or his tears, so plain a 
creature like ourselves, that when he falls upon the thorns of 
life, and bleeds, we never think of regarding him as a great 
man, but merely as a friend distressed and lost. What sim- 
plicity, what kindly enthusiasm, what quiet humour, animated 
tliB writer of the following letter to a bookseller in Edinburgh I 
17* 



374 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

Eohert Burns to Peter Hill. 

Ellisland : February 2, 1790. 

IN"© ! I "will not say one word about apologies or excuses 
for not writing — I am a poor, rascally ganger, condemned to 
gallop at least 200 miles every week to inspect dirty ponds 
and yeasty barrels, and where can I find time to write to, 
or importance to interest anybody % the upbraidings of my con- 
science, nay the npbraidings of my wife, have persecuted me on 
your account these two or three months past. I wish to God I 
was a great man, that my correspondence might throw light upon 
you, to let the world see what you really are, and then I would 
make your fortune, without putting my hand in my pocket for you, 
which, like all other great men, I suppose I would avoid as much 
as possible. "What are you doing, and how are you doing % Have 
you lately seen any of my few friends 1 What has become of the 
Borough Reform, or how is the fate of my poor namesake Made- 
moiselle Burns decided ? man ! but for thee and thy selfish 
appetites, and dishonest artifices, that beauteous form, and that 
once innocent and still ingenuous mind, which shone conspicuous 
and lovely in the faithful wife, and the affectionate mother; and 
shall the unfortunate sacrifice to thy pleasures have no claim on 
thy humanity ! 

I saw lately in a Beview, some extracts from a new poem, 
called the ' Village Curate ' ; send it me. I want likewise a cheap 
copy of ' The World.' Mr. Armstrong, the young poet who does 
me the honour to mention me so kindly in his works, please give 
him my best thanks for the copy of his book — I shall write him, 
my first leisure hour. I like his poetry much, but I think his 
style in prose quite astonishing. 

Your book came safe, and I am going to trouble you with fur- 
ther commissions. I call it troubling you — because I want only. 
Books ; the cheapest way, the best ; so you may have to hunt for 
them in the evening auctions. I want Smollett's Works, for the 
sake of his incomparable humour. I have already Boderick 
Bandom, and Humphrey Clinker — Peregrine Pickle, Launcelot 
Greaves, and Ferdinand, Count Fathom, I still want ; but as I 
said, the veriest ordinary copies will serve me. I am nice only in 
the appearance of my poets. I forget the price of Cowper's Poems, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 375 

but, I believe, I must have them. I saw the other day, proposals 
for a publication, entitled, * Banks's new and complete Christian's 
Family Bible,' printed for C. Cooke, Paternoster-row, London. 
He promises at least, to give in the work, I think it is three 
hundred and odd engravings, to which he has put the names of the 
first artists in London. You will know the character of the per- 
formance, as some numbers of it are published ; and if it is really 
what it pretends to be, set me down as a subscriber, and send me 
the published numbers. 

Let me hear from you, your first leisure minute, and trust me 
you shall in future have no reason to complain of my silence. The 
dazzling perplexity of novelty will dissipate and leave me to pursue 
my course in the quiet path of methodical routine. 

R B. 

CCXXYL 

Burns found no advancement in the miserable service that he 
had chosen to enter. He never rose higher than the ' nicked 
stick,' the badge and implement of a common ganger. But the 
Government was not content with ignoring the claims of the 
poet to promotion. He was known to hold liberal opinions, and 
to be that dangerous being, ' a friend of the people.' The Com- 
missioners of Excise wrote him a letter, couched in the formal- 
ity of official insolence, informing that great man that ' such a 
petty officer as he had no business with politics.' 

It is believed that but for the interposition of the friend to 
whom this letter is addressed, Burns would have been summarily 
dismissed, and his family turned adrift upon the world. 

Robert Burns to 3Ir. Graham of Fiyitray, 

December, 1792. 

Sir, — I have been surprised, confounded, and distracted by Mr. 
Mitchel, the collector, telling me that he has received an order 
from your Board to enquire into my political conduct, and 
blaming* me as a person disaffected to government. 

Sir, you are a husband — and a father. — You know what you 
would feel, to see the much loved wife of your bosom, and your 
helpless, prattling little ones, turned adrift into the world, de- 
graded and disgraced from a situation in which they had been 
respectable and respected, and left almost without the necessary 
support of a miserable existence. Alas, Sir ! must I think that 



376 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

such, soon will be my lot ! and from the d — mned, dark insinua- 
tions of hellish groundless envy too ! I believe, Sir, I may aver 
it, and in the sight of Omniscience, that I would not tell a deliberate 
falsehood, no, not though even worse horrors, if worse can be, 
than those I have mentioned, hung over my head ; and I say, that 
the allegation, whatever villain has made it, is a lie ! To the 
British Constitution, on revolution principles, next after my God, 
I am most devoutly attached ; you, Sir, have been much and gene- 
rously my friend. — Heaven knows how warmly I have felt the 
obligation, and how gratefully I have thanked you. — Fortune, Sir, 
has made you powerful, and me impotent ; has given you patron- 
age, and me dependence. — I would not for my single self, call on 
your humanity ; were such my insular, unconnected situation, I 
Avould despise the tear that now swells in my eye — I could brave 
misfortune, I could face ruin ; for at the worst, * Death's thousand 
doors stand open ; ' but, good God ! the tender concerns that I 
have mentioned, the claims and ties that I see at this moment, 
and feel around me, how they unnerve Courage, and wither [Reso- 
lution ! To your patronage, as a man of some genius, you have 
allowed me a claim ; and your esteem, as an honest man, I know 
is my due : to these. Sir, permit me to appeal ; by these may I 
adjure you to save me from that misery which threatens to over- 
whelm me, and which, with my latest breath I will say it, I have 
not deserved, 

E. B. 



coxxvn. 

Watson has, in his ^Life of Porsou,' very graphically 
described the ditficulties which beset that ' Prince of Grecians ' 
at the time the following' letter was written. 

His refusal to take Orders and subscribe to the Thirty-Nine 
Articles necessitated the resignation of a fellowship at Cambridge 
which was his chief means of support, and left him, as he Said, 
* a gentleman in London with sixpence in his pocket.' Soon 
after the professorship of Greek became vacant, and Dr. Postle- 
thwaite, the Master of Trinity, wrote to inquire of Porson 
whether he would offer himself as a candidate. The reply of 
the needy scholar who appr(>]iended that subscription to the Test 
would be enforced as rigorously for the tenure of the professor- 
ship, does him i]ifinite honour. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 877 

EicJiard Forson to Dr. Postlethioaite, 

October 6, 1702. 
Sir, — When I first received the ftivour of your letter, I must 
own that I felt rather vexation and chagrin than hope and satis- 
faction. I had looked upon myself so completely in the light of an 
outcast from Alma Mater, that I had made up my mind to have 
no further connection with the place. The prospect you held out 
to me gave me more uneasiness than pleasure. When I was 
younger than I now am, and my disposition more sanguine than it 
is at present, I was in daily expectation of Mr. Cook's resignation, 
and I flattered myself with the hope of succeeding to the honour 
he was going to quit. As hoj)e and ambition are great castle- 
builders, I had laid a scheme partly, as I was willing to think, for 
the joint credit, partly for the mutual advantage, of myself and the 
University. I had projected a plan of reading lectures, and I per- 
suaded myself that I should easily obtain a grace permitting me to 
exact a certain sum from every person who attended. But seven 
years' waiting will tire out the most patient temj)er ; and all my 
ambition of this sort was long ago laid asleep. The sudden news 
of the vacant professorship put me in mind of poor Jacob, who, 
having served seven years in hopes of being rewarded with Ilachel, 
awoke, and behold it was Leah. Such, Sir, I confess, were the 
first ideas that took possession of my mind. But after a little 
reflection, I resolved to refer a matter of this importance to my 
friends. This circumstance has caused the delay, for which I 
ought before now to have apologised. My friends unanimously 
exhorted me to embrace the good fortune which they conceived to 
be within my grasp. Their advice, therefore, joined to the 
expectation I had entertained of doing some small good by my 
exertions in the employment, together with the pardonable vanity 
which the honour annexed to the office inspired, determined me ; 
and I was on the point of troubling you, Sir, and the other 
electors, with notice of my intentions to profess myself a candidate, 
when an objection, which had escaped me in the hurry of my 
thoughts, now occurred to my recollection. The same reason 
which hindered me from keeping my fellowship by the method you 
obligingly pointed out to me, would, I am greatly afraid, prevent 
me from being Greek Professor. Whatever concern this may give 



378' ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

me for myself, it gives me none for the pul)lic. I trust there are 
at least twenty or thirty in the UniA^ersity equally able and willing 
to undertake the office; possessed, many, of talents superior to 
mine, and all of a more complying conscience. This I speak upon 
the supposition that the next Greek professor will be compelled to 
read lectures ; but if the place remains a sinecure, the number of 
qualified persons will be greatly increased. And though it were 
even granted that my industry and attention might possibly pro- 
dace some benefit to the interests of learning and the credit of the 
University, that trifling gain would be as much exceeded by keep- 
ing the professorship a sinecure, and bestowing it on a sound 
believer, as temporal considerations are outweighed by spiritual. 
Having only a strong pei'suasion, not an absolute certainty, that 
such a subscription is required of the professor elect, if I am mis- 
taken I hereby offer myself as a candidate ; but if I am right in 
my opinion, I shall beg of you to order my name to be erased from 
the boards, and I shall esteem it a favour conferred on. 

Sir, 
Your obliged humble servant, 

R. PORSON. 



CCXXVIII. 

* Country gentlemen are the nerves and ligatures of your 
political body.' Have we not here traces of the influence of 
William Pitt on his firm friend and constant companion ? 

William Wilher/orce to the Earl of Galloioay. 

House of Commons : December 3, 1800. 
My dear Lord, — I assure you from my heart that no man 
respects more than myself the character of a nobleman or gentle- 
man who lives on his own property in the country, improving his 
land, executing the duties of magistracy, exercising hospitality and 
diffusing comfort, and order and decorum and moral improve- 
ment, and though last not least (where it has any place) religion, 
too, throughout the circle greater or smaller, which he fills. 
Greatly I regret that due attention, as I think, has not been paid 
to this class of persons. Every inducement and facility should 
have been held out to them for fixing in the country, rather than 
in towns. 



1800] EXGLISH LETTERS, 379 

Timber, bricks and tiles &c. used in improvements, should 
have been exempted from taxation. The house-tax and window- 
tax should have been increased on town houses, and lessened on 
those of gentlemen residing on their own property. For in fact 
your country gentlemen are the nerves and ligatures of your poli- 
tical body, and they enable you to enforce laws which could not 
be executed by the mere power of Government, and often preserve 
the public peace better than a regiment of soldiers. 

London is the gangrene of our body politic, and the bad 
humours it generates corrupt the whole mass. Through the me- 
dium of the great clubs &c. one set of opinions, manners, modes of 
living are diffused through a vast mass of the higher orders. 

Domestic restraints, and family economy, and order are voted 
bores, while, from the nature of our constitution, aided by the 
increasing wealth and the prevailing sentiments of the age, what- 
ever ways of thinking, speaking, and acting become popular in the 
higher classes, soon spread through every order. Hence respect 
for our nobility, and even for the King himself, instead of being 
regarded as a Christian duty, is deemed an antiquated prejudice. 
Your Lordship's obliged and faithful 

W. Y/lLBERFOPX'E. 



CCXXLY. 

A Tolume of letters from Mary WollstoEecraft to Captain 
Gilbert Imlay, with a prefatory memoir of the writer, by Mr. C. 
Kegan Paul, throws a flood of light on the character of a re- 
markable woman whose chief claim to public notice seems, 
imtil recently, to have been that she was the wife of the philo- 
sopher Godwin, and the mother of Shelley's wife. Although 
the exceptional views on social questions so boldly asserted by 
this lady, will be held as extravagant and outre now as they were 
in the last century, Mr. C. Kegan Paul, in hallowing the memory 
of a pure, impassioned, and refined being through a life of toil 
and sorrow has nevertheless succeeded in painting so complete a 
picture of Mary AVollstonecraft that our just sympathy is ex- 
cited for her as fully as these letters excite our disgust for the 
scoundrel Imlay who first stole her heart and then deserted her. 



Wollstonecraft to Captain Imilay. 

Paris : September 22, 1794. 
I have just written two letters, that are going by other con- 
veyances, and which I reckon on your receiving long before this. 



380 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

I therefore merely write, because I know I should be disappointed 
at seeing anyone who had left you if you did not send a letter, 
were it ever so short, to tell me why you did not write a longer, 
and you will want to be told, over and over again, that our little 
Hercules is quite recovered. Besides looking at me, there are 
three other things which delight her; to ride in a coach, to look 
at a scarlet waistcoat, and hear loud music — yesterday, at the/e^e, 
she enjoyed the two latter ; but, to honour J. J. Kousseau, I in- 
tend to give her a sash, the first she has ever had round her — and 
why not 1 — for I have always been half in love with him. 

Well, this you will say is trifling — shall I talk about alum or soap? 
There is nothing picturesque in your present puj suits ; my imagi- 
nation, then, rather chooses to ramble back to the Barrier with you, 
or to see you coming to meet me, and my basket of grapes. With 
what pleasure do I recollect your looks and words, when I have 
been sitting on the window, regarding the waving corn ! Believe 
me, sage sir, you have not sufficient respect for the imagination. I 
could prove to you in a trice that it is the mother of sentiment, 
the great distinction of our nature, the only purifier of the^ passions 
— animals have a portion of reason, a ad equal, if not more exqui- 
site senses; but no trace of imagination, or her offspring taste, 
appears in any of their actions. The impulse of the senses, pas- 
sions, if you will, and the conclusions of reason, draw men together; 
but the imagination is the true fire, stolen from heaven, to animate 
this cold creature of clay, producing all those fine sympathies that 
lead to rapture, rendering men social by expanding their hearts, in- 
stead of leaving them leisure to calculate how many comforts 
society affords. If you call these observations romantic, a phrase 
in this place which would be tantamount to nonsensical, I 
shall be apt to retort, that you are embruted by trade and 
the vulgar enjoyments of life. Bring me then back your barrier 
face, or you shall have nothing to say to my barrier girl ; and I 
shall fly from you, to cherish the remembrances that will ever be 
dear to me ; for I am yours truly, 

Mary. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. '381 



coxxx. 

In the foregoing as well as in the following letter the 
writer refers to her child. Mary WoUstonecraft had gi^^en her 
lieart to Imlay and considered herself Imlay's wife. To quote 
Mr. 0. Kegan Paul : ' Her view was that a common affection 
was marriage, and that the mai-riage tie should not bind after 
the death of love, if love should die.' 

Mary WoUstonecraft to Captain Imlay. 

January 9, 1795. 

I just now received one of your hasty notes ; for business so en- 
tirely occupies you, that you have not time, or sufficient command 
of thought, to write letters. Beware ! you seem to be got into a 
world of projects and schemes, which are drawing you into a gulf, 
that, if it do not absorb your happiness, will infallibly destroy 
mine. 

Fatigued during my youth by the most arduous struggles, not 
only to obtain independence, but to render myself useful, not 
merely pleasure, for which I had the most lively taste, — I mean 
the simple pleasures that flow from passion and affection, — escaped 
me, but the most melancholy views of life were impressed by a 
disappointed heart on my mind. Since I knew you I have been 
endeavouring to go back to my former nature, and have allowed 
some time to glide away, winged with the delight which only spon- 
taneous enjoyment can give. Why have you so soon dissolved the 
charm % 

I am really unable to bear the continual inquietude which 

your and 's never-ending plans produce. This you may 

term want of firmness, but you are mistaken ; I have still 
sufficient firmness to pursue my principle of action-. The present 
misery, I cannot find a softer word to do justice to my feelings, 
appears to me unnecessary, and therefore I have not firmness to 
support it as you may think I ought. I should have been con- 
tent, and still wish, to retire with you to a farm. My God ! 
anything but these continual anxieties, anything but commerce, 
which debases the mind, and roots out affection from the heart. 

I do not mean to complain of subordinate inconveniences ; yet 
I will simply observe, that, led to expect you every week, I did 



382 E.YGLfSH LETTERS. [1700- 

not make the arrangements required by tlie present circumstances, 
to procure the necessaries of life. In order to have them, a ser- 
vant, for that purpose only, is indispensable. The want of wood 
has made me catch the most violent cold I ever had ; and my head 
is so disturbed by continual coughing, that I am unable to write 
without stopping frequently to recollect myself. This however, is 
one of the common evils which must be borne with — bodily pain 
does not touch the heart, though it fatigues the spirits. 

Still, as you talk of your return, even in February, doubtingly, 
I have determined, the moment the weather changes, to wean my 
child. It is too soon for her to begin to divide sorrow ! And as 
one has well said, despair is a freeman, we will go and seek our 
fortune together. This is not a caprice of the moment, for your 
absence has given new weight to some conclusions that I was very 
reluctantly forming before you left me. I do not choose to be a 
secondary object. If your feelings were in unison with mine, you 
would not sacrifice so much to visionary prospects of future 
advantage. 



CCXXXI. 

This is the letter that made Tom Moore ' unhappy for days ; * 
but he was not the only person who envied the literary veteran 
Samuel Rogers, who with an ample fortune was retiring from 
the field of literature full of honours and full of health, to 
devote the remainder of a long life to the luxury of travel abroad 
and to the enjoyment of the most refined and amusing society at 
home. The first part of his 'Italy' appeared in 1822, and the 
complete edition, delayed on account of the illustrations, and 
produced at an expense of 10,000/., was published a few years 
afterwards. There was a good margin of time for repose he- 
tween this, his last work, and his death, which occurred in the 
year 1855, at the age of ninety-three. 

Samuel Rogers to Thomas Moore. 

Venice; October 17, 1814. 
• My dear Moore, — Last night in my gondola I made a vow I 
would write you a letter if it was only to beg you would write to 
me at Rome. Like the great Marco Polo, however, whose tomb I 
saw to-day, I have a secret wish to astonish you with my travels, 
and would take you with me, as you would not go willingly, from 
London to Paris, and from Paris to the Lake of Geneva, and so on 



180U] ENGLISH LETTERS. 383 

to this city of romantic adventure, the place from which he started. 
I set out in August last, with my sister and Mackintosh. He 
parted with us in Switzerland, since which time we have travelled 
on together, and happy should we have been could you and Psyche 
have made a quartett of it. I hope all her predictions have long 
ago been fulfilled to your mind, and that she, and you, and the 
bambini are all as snug and as happy as you can wish to be. By 
the way, I forgot one of your family, who, I hope, is still under 
your roof. I mean one of nine sisters — the one I have more than 
once made love to. With another of them, too, all the world 
knows your good fortune. Apropos of love, and such things, is 
Lord Byron to be married to Miss Milbanke, at last % I have heard 
it. But to proceed to business ; Chamouny, and the Mer de 
Glace, Voltaii-e's chamber at Ferney, Gibbon's terrace at Lausanne^ 
Rousseau's Isle of St. Pierre, the Lake of Lucerne; and the little 
Cantons, the passage over the Alps, the Lago Maggiore, Milan, 
Verona, Padua, Venice — what shall I begin with % but I believe I 
must refer you to my three Quartos on the subject, whenever they 
choose to appear. The most wonderful thing we have seen is 
Bonaparte's road over the Alps — as smooth as that in Hyde Park, 
and not steeper than St. James's Street. We left Savoy at seven 
in the morning, and slept at Domo d'Ossola in Italy that night. 
For twenty miles we descended through a mountain-pass, as rocky, 
and often narrower, than the narrowest part of Dovedale; the road 
being sometimes cut out of the mountain, and three times carried 
through it, leaving the torrent (and such a torrent !) to work its 
way by itself. The passages or galleries, as I believe the French 
engineers call them, were so long as to require large openings here 
and there for light, and the roof was hung with icicles, which the 
carriage shattered as it passed along, and which fell to the ground 
with a shrill sound. We were eight hours in climbing to the top 
and only three in descending. Our wheel was never locked, and 
our horses were almost always in a gallop. But I must talk to 
you a little about Venice. I cannot tell you what I felt, when 
the postillion turned gaily round, and, pointing with his whip, 
cried out, ' Venezia ! ' For there it w^as, sure enough, w^ith its long 
line of domes and turrets glittering in the sun. I walk about here 
all day long in a dream. Is that the Bialto, I say to myself ? Is 
this St. Mark's Place ? Do I see the Adriatic ? I think if vou 



381 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

and I were together here, my dear Moore, we might manufacture 
something from the ponte dei sospiri, the scala del giganti, the 
piombi, the pozzi, and the thousand ingredients of mystery and 
terror that are here at every turn. Nothing can be more luxu- 
rious than a gondola and its little black cabin, in which you 
can fly about unseen, the gondoliers so silent all the while. 
They dip their oars as if they were afraid of disturbing you ; 
yet you fly. As you are rowed through one of the narrow- 
streets, often do you catch the notes of a guitar, accompanied by a 
female voice, through some open window; and at night, on the 
Grand Canal, how amusing is it to observe the moving lights (every 
gondola has its ligbt), one now and then shooting across at a little 
distance, and vanishing into a smaller canal. Oh, if you had^any 
pursuit of love or pleasure, how nervous would they make you, 
not knowing their contents or their destination ! and how infinitely 
more interesting, as more mysterious, their silence, than the noise 
of carriage-wheels ! Before the steps of the Opera-house, they are 
drawn up in array with their shining prows of white metal, wait- 
ing for the company. One man remains in your boat, while the 
other stands at the door of your loge. When you come out, he 
attends you down, and calling ' Pietro,' or ' Giacomo,' is answered 
from the water, and away you go. The gliding motion is delight- 
ful, and would calm you after any scene in a casino. The gondolas 
of the Foreign Ministers carry the national flag. I think you 
would be pleased with an Italian theatre. It is lighted only from 
the stage, and the soft shadows that are thrown over it produce a 
very visionary effect. Here and there the figures in a box are 
illuminated from within, and glimmering and partial lights are 
almost magical. Sometimes the curtains are drawn, and you may 
conceive what you please. This is indeed a fairy land, and Yenice 
particularly so. If at Naples you see most with the eye, and at 
Home with the memory, surely at Yenice you see most with 
the imagination. But enough of Yenice. To-morrow we bid 
adieu to it, — most probably I shall never see it again. "We shall 
pass through Ferrara to Bologna, then cross the Apennines to 
Florence, and so on to Home, where I shall look for a line from 
you. Pray, have you sermonized the discordant brothers ? I 
hope you have, and not forgotten yourself on the occasion. When 
you write to Tunbridge, pray remember me. Tell Lady D. I 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 385 

passed the little Lake of Lowertz, and saw the melancholy effects 
of the downfall. It is now a scene of desolation, and the little 
town of Goldan is buried many fathoms deep. 

It is a sad story, and you shall have it when we meet. I re- 
ceived a very kind letter from her at Tunbridge, and mean to 
answer it. I hope to meet you in London-town, when you visit 
it next ; at least I shall endeavour to do so. My sister unites 
with me in kindest remembrance to Mrs. Moore ; and pray, pray 
believe me to be, 

Yours ever, 

S. E. 

At Yerona we were shown Juliet's tomb in a Convent garden ! 
In the evening we went to the play, but saw neither Mercutio, 
nor " the two Gentlemen " there. 



CCXXXII. 

The last considerable work by William Godwin was a * His- 
tory of the Oommonwealtli of England.' In the preparation of 
this book he had consulted Sir Walter Scott and other authori- 
ties respecting Cromwell's character and rule ; and among the 
letters he received is one of interest from the late Mr. Isaac 
D'Israeli. Mazarin quite imderstood how not to ofi'end the Lord 
Protector. 

Isaac D^ Israeli to William Godwin. 

C, Bloomsbury Square: July 12, 1828. 

Dear Sir, — It is with great pleasure I communicate to you 
the striking anecdote which confirms the notice you find in Yol- 
taire of Cromwell, who when Protector, would be addressed, much 
against Louis XIY.'s inclination, as 'brother,' by the French 
monarch. At the same time I beg to repeat that I find in my 
note on this anecdote, a loose reference to Thurlow's papers, by 
which I infer that I must have read in Thurlow's collection some- 
thing relative to the subject of your enquiry. 

The present anecdote is very circumstantial and of undoubted 
authority. Dr. Sampson derived it from Judge Rookly, who was 
present at the delivery of the letter. I transcribe it literally from 
the Diary of Dr. Sampson, Sloane MSS. 

'He was in the Banqueting House to receive the Duke of 
Crequi, as ambassador from the French King. Great was the 



386 ENGLISH LETTERS, []700- 

state and crowd. The ambassador made his speech, and after all 
compliments, he delivered a letter into his hands which was super- 
scribed : " To his most serene Highness Oliver, Lord Protector of 
England, Scotland, and Ireland." He looks wistfully at the letter, 
puts it in his pocket, turns away without speaking a word or read- 
ing it. The ambassador was highly vexed at this, and as soon as he 
could meet with Secretary Thurlow, expostulates with him for the 
great affront and indignity offered to his master, so great a prince 
— asked him what he thought the cause might be. Thurlow an- 
swered, he thought the Protector might be displeased with the 
superscription of the letter. The Duke said he thought that it was 
according to form, and in terms as agreeable as could be. " But," 
says Thurlow, " the Protector expected he should have written to our 
dear brother Oliver." It is said the ambassador writing this over 
to Prance, the King replied : "Shall I call such a fellow my hr other?" 
to which Cardinal Mazarin answered, " Aye, call him your father 
if need be, if you would get from him what you desire." And so a 
letter was procured, having the desired superscription.' 

I need not assure you of the correctness of the transcript. 
Believe me, very truly yours, 

I. D'ISRAELI. 

CCXXXIII. 

Br. Bihdin wished to include a chapter on the fine arts in 
his * Literary Reminiscences,' and requested Mr. Isaac DTsraeli 
to furnish him. with the loan of some of William Blake's works. 
This was the letter of reply. We may see at p. 44 of his 
^ Essay on Blake,' that Mr. Swinburne has endorsed Mr. Blsraeli's 
criticism in strikingly coincident language. 

Isaac B'' Israeli to Dr. Dibdin. 
Bradenham House, Wycombe : July 24, 1835. 
My dear friend, — It is quite impossible to transmit to you the 
One Hundred and Sixty designs I possess of Blake's ; and as im- 
possible, if you had them, to convey every precise idea of such an 
infinite variety of these wondrous deliriums of his fine and wild 
creative imagination. Heaven, hell, and earth, and the depths 
below, are some of the scenes he seems alike to have tenanted ; 
but the invisible world also busies his fancy ; aerial beings which 
could only float in visions, and unimaginable chimeras, such as you 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 387 

have never viewed, lie by the side of his sunshiny people. You 
see some innocent souls winding about blossoms — for others the 
massive sepulchre has opened, and the waters beneath give up their 
secrets. The finish, the extreme delicacy of his pencil, in his 
light gracile forms, marvellously contrast with the ideal figm-cs of 
his mystic allegories ; sometimes playful, as the loveliness of the 
arabesques of Eaffaelle. Blake often breaks into the ' terribil via ' 
of Michael Angelo, and we start amid a world too horrified to 
dwell in. Not the least extraordinary fact of these designs is, 
their colouring, done by the artist's own hand, worked to his fancy; 
and the verses which are often remarkable for their sweetness 
and their depth of feeling. I feel the imperfection of my general 
description. Such singular productions require a commentary. 
Believe me, with regard 

Your sincere well wisher, 

Isaac D'Israeli. 



CCXXXIV. 

Miss Edgeworth points to her intimate friend the Rev. 
Sydney Smith as the man whose captivatino- manners and 
generous heart would have deeply intiiienced the Irish people 
had he been able to reside permanently among them. 

Miss Maria Edgeworth to Miss Smith, daughter of the Rev. 

Sydney Smith. 
I have not the absurd presumption to think your father would 
leave London or Combe Florey, for Ireland voluntarily , but I wish 
some Irish bishopric were forced upon him, and that his own sense 
of national charity and humanity would forbid him to refuse. 
Then, obliged to reside amongst us, he would see, in the twinkling 
of an eye (such an eye as his), all our manifold grievances up and 
down the country. One word, one hon mot of his, would do more 

for us, I guess, than Mr. 's four hundred pages, and all the 

like, with which we have been bored. One letter from Sydney Smith 
on the afiairs of Ireland, with his name to it, and after having been 
there, would do more for us than his letters did for America and 
England ; — a bold assertion, you will say, and so it is ] but I cal- 
culate that Pat is a far better subject for wit than Jonathan; it 
only plays round Jonathan's head, but it goes to Pat's heart — to 



388 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

the very bottom of his heart, where he loves it ; and he don't care 
whether it is for or against him, so that it is real wit and fun. 
Now Pat would doat upon your father, and kiss the rod with all 
his soul, he would, — the lash just lifted, — when he'd see the laugh 
on the face, the kind smile, that would tell him it was all for his 
good. Your father would lead Pat (for he'd never drive him) to 
the world's end, and maybe to common sense in the end, — might 
open his eyes to the true state of things and persons, and cause 
him to ax himself how it comes that, if he be so distressed by the 
Sassenach landlords that he can't keep soul and body together, nor 
one farthing for the wife and children, after paying the rini for the 
land, still and nevertheless he can pay King Dan's rint aisy, — 
thousands of pounds, not for lands or potatoes, but just for castles 
in the air. Methinks I hear Pat saying the words, and see him 
jump to the conclusion, that * maybe the gintleman, his reverence, 
that " has the way witlihim^^ might be the man after all to do them 
all the good in life, and asking nothing at all from them. Better, 
sure, than Dan after all ; and we will follow him through thick 
and thin — why no % What though he is his reverence, the Church, 
that is, our clear gy, won't object to him ; for he was never an 
inimy any way, but always for paying them off handsome, and 
fools if they don't take it now. So down with King Dan, for he's 
no good ! and up with Sydney — he's the man. King of glory ! ' 

But, visions of glory, and of good better than glory, spare my 
longing sight ; else I shall never come to an end of this note. Note 
indeed ! I beg your pardon. 

Yours affectionately, 

Maria Edgeworth. 



ccxxxv. 

The saying that the Duke of Wellington's enemies never 
gave him so much trouble as his friends is verified over and 
over aorain in the volumes cont.iining his civil and military cor- 
respondence. At the time the following letter was wrii.ten Vis- 
count Wellington of Talavera was probably tbe only public 
man who had complete confidence in his own strength, and in 
the might of Great Britain to ^ strike the bold stroke for the 
rescue of the world,' All he required for his campaign in the 
Peninsula was men, money, and freedom of action. But the 
Government was half-hearted and economical ; the Opposition 
openly sneered at his ' very rash ' conduct ; the Spanish General 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS 389 

Oaesta, was old, obstinate, and incapable; the Portuguese 
Government was obstructive ; and tliere were 380,000 Frencli- 
meu, already in possession of the chief strongholds, opposed to 
us. No wonder Wellington thought the authorities at home 
* were all gone mad ! ' 

Lieut.-General Viscount Wellington to the Rt. Hon. Sir W. W. 

Pole. 

Oartaxo : January 11, 1811. 
My dear William, — I have received your letters of the 8th. and 
the 25th of December. I have never been able to obtain any 
specific instructions, or even statement of an object. You have 
seen the only instructions which I have, which are to save the 
British army; and that is the only object officially stated to me 
for keeping an army in the Peninsula. 

I agree entirely in opinion with you that it is desirable, nay 
necessary, to reinforce this army at an early period to a large 
amount, and of this opinion I have repeatedly apprised Lord Liver- 
pool in some public dispatches, and in many private letters : but 
after what has been stated to you, you will hardly believe that I 
have now scarcely the force which was originally promised me, 
which was to be 35,000 infantry. Then, when the last reinforce- 
ments were sent out, not only I was told that I was to expect no 
more, but I was desired to send home some of the troops in case 
Massena should retire. I even begged to borrow 10,000 men from 
England or Ireland for a short period, which was refused ; and 
then they tell you that I don't apply for specifi.c numbers to per- 
form specific operations. What I have already written will show 
you how the facts stand respecting my applications, and I will now 
state how they stand respecting objects. Before the siege of Al- 
meida I urged in the strongest terms to be reinforced ; I pointed 
out from whence I could be reinforced ; and stated the probability 
that if I were reinforced, I could save everything. Was this an 
object or not ? 

Then I would observe that, adverting to the nature of the war 
in the Peninsula, to the disparity of means and resources in the 
possession or in the power of the two parties, to the instructions 
which government have given to me, and the limitation of m.j 
powers of action in every point of view, and to the uncertainty of 
the operations of the allies, it is not quite fair to call upon me to 
18 



390 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

state the specific object to be attained by every additional soldier 
who might be sent to me. Government have embarked in this 
contest, "with all its difficulties and uncertainties ; and it is their 
duty to state their objects in it, and employ the best officer they 
can find, and the largest army they can collect, to carry it on in 
the best manner he can, and to reinforce him to the utmost : for 
sure I am that if we cannot persevere in carrying it on in 
the Peninsula, or elsewhere on the Continent, we must prepare to 
make one of our own islands the seat of the war ; and when one of 
them will have been so for a week, we shall heartily repent all the 
little, dirty feelings which have prevented us from continuing the 
contest elsewhere. If there is confidence in me that I shall use to 
advantage the reinforcements which can be sent to me, let them be 
sent without calling upon me for objects; or at all events before I 
am called upon for objects, let government themselves state theirs, 
if they have any excepting to keep the war out of the king's do- 
minions. 

I think you are mistaken respecting the facility with which an 
army could get on without money. Your reasoning is appli- 
cable only to the pay of the troops, which is but a small part of 
the expense which must be defrayed in money. But the necessity 
of paying in money the officers and soldiers of an army cannot be 
measured by the necessity of paying in money the officers and sea- 
men of a fleet. First, the rations of the soldier are not sufficient 
for his subsistence for any gi-eat length of time. Secondly, all his 
necessaries are bought and paid for out of his daily subsistence, 
and there is the greatest distress, as well for some descriptions of 
food not issued by the commissary, as for necessaries when the pay 
is not issued. In the same manner the officers of the army cannot 
live upon their rations alone, and they, as well as the soldiers, 
must be paid, or they must do as the French army do, that is, 
plunder in order to be able to get on at all. 

I think, however, that measures might be adopted to increase 
our supplies of specie in this country ; but since government have 
taken this subject into their own hands, and have sent here a gen- 
tleman to make their own inquiries and arrangements upon the 
subjects, I have given myself no further trouble about it. 

Not only I think that the supply of specie in Portugal might be 
increased, but that other measures might be adopted to decrease 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 391 

the demand for specie ; and I must observe that if the war in Por- 
tugal is to be carried on on the large scale supposed, troops must be 
brought from other parts ; the expenses in those parts, and the 
demand for specie there, must cease ; and the specie which sup- 
plied them might be brought here. 

I have now, I believe, replied to all the principal points in your 
letter. I agree with you in thinking that we ought to be largely 
reinforced. If we are, 1 am tolerably certain of the result; and I 
am equally certain that if Buonaparte cannot root us out of his 
country, he must alter his system in Europe, and must give us 
such a peace as we ought to accept. 

I acknowledge that I doubt whether the government (I mean 
the existing administration of England) have the power, or the in- 
clination, or the nerves to do all that ought to be done to carry the 
contest on as it might be. I am the commander of the British 
army without any of the patronage or power that an officer in that 
situation has always had. I have remonstrated against this sys- 
tem, but in vain. Then I am the mainspring of all the other 
operations, but it is because I am Lord Wellington ; for I have 
neither influence nor support, nor means of acquiring influence, 
given to me by the government. I have not authority to give a 
shilling, or a stand of arms, or a round of musket ammunition to 
anybody. I do give all, it is true ; but it is contrary to my in- 
structions, and at my peril ; and I don't think that government 
ought in fairness to make a man what they call commander of the 
forces, and place him in the perilous situation in which they have 
got me, without giving him in specific terms either power or confi- 
dence, or without being certain of having a majority in Parliament 
to support him in case of accidents. 

You can have no idea of the risks I incur every day upon every 
subject, which not another officer of the army would even look at ; 
and for this reason I have pi-essed the strengthening of government 
much against their inclination : but if I did not incur these risks 
the service in these times could not go on for a moment. I agree, 
with you in thinking that the Prince of Wales will make a com- 
plete change : indeed I don't think that the lestrictions on his 
power will be carried. 

There is nothing new here. If the Spaniards can do anything, 
they won't allow Mortier to cross the Guadiana unless the siege 



392 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

of Cadiz should be raised; and then the war will take a new 
turn. 

In the mean time I think Massena must withdraw. He is 
sadly pressed for provisions, certa'nly. Indeed it is extraordinary 
that he has existed at all so long. 

Ever yours most affectionately, 

Wellington. 

P.S. — I wrote this letter last night, and have since received 
yours describing the mares, which will answer perfectly. Just to 
show you the uncertainty of all operations in which Spaniards are 
concerned, I mention that I have this morning received accounts 
that the enemy have crossed the Guadiana at Merida, the Spaniards 
having neglected to destroy the bridge, as they were ordered ! We 
shall thus have a large army in the Alentejo immediately. 



CCXXXVI. 

Tn the following amusing letter we find the Iron Duke cour- 
teously insisting on ' duty before pleasure ! ' He had already in a 
despatch (January 1811), to the Military Secretary expressed 
his annoyance at the continued absence on leave of general 
and other officers of the army ; and he observed, ' At this 
moment we have seven general officers gone or going home ; and 
excepting myself there is not one in the country who came out 
with the army, except General Sir Alexander Campbell, who 
was all last winter in England,' 

There were two good and sufficient reasons for the Duke'a 
complaint that he was actually discharging the duties of ' General- 
in-Chief, General of Cavalry, General of Division, and some- 
times Colonel of Regiment,' In the first place he was much 
fatigued ; and in the second place the time had arrived for 
crossing the Portuguese frontier and developing his plan on 
Spanish ground. 

Lieut. -General Viscount Wellington to . 



Quinta de S. Joao : June 27, 1811. 

I have had the honour of receiving your 's letter of 

the 3rd inst., and it is impossible not to feel for the unhappiness of 
the young lady, which you have so well described ; but it is not so 
easy as you imagine to apply the remedy. 

It appears to me that I should be guilty of a breach of discre- 
tion if I were to send for the fortunate object of this young lady's 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 393 

affections, and apprise him of the pressing necessity for his early 
return to England : the application for permission to go ought to 
come from himself; and, at all events, the offer ought not to be 
made by me, and particularly not founded on the secret of this young 
lady. 

But this fortunate Major now commands his battalion, and I 
am very apprehensive that he could not with propriety quit it at 
present, even though the life of this female should depend upon it ; 
and, therefore, I think that he will not ask for leave. 

We read occasionally of desperate cases of this description, but 
I cannot say that I have ever yet known of a young lady dying of 
love. They contrive, in some manner, to live, and look tolerably 
well, notwithstanding their despair and the continued absence of 
their lover ; and some have even been known to recover so far as 
to be inclined to take another lover, if the absence of the first has 
lasted too long. I don't suppose that your protegee can ever re- 
cover so far, but I do hope that she will survive the continued 
necessary absence of the Major, and enjoy with him hereafter many 
happy days. I have, &c., 

Wellington. 

ccxxxvn. 

Lord Wellington is writing from the once thriving port of St. 
Jean, the frontier town of France, where he established his head- 
quarters in November 1813, after the battle of the Nivelle, and 
the retreat of Marshal Soult to bis intrenched camp before 
Bayonne. On entering French territory Wellington ordered 
that all food and other supplies should be paid for : on the other 
hand it would seem that the French, after mercilessly exhaust- 
ing the rich yields of Spain, systematically pillaged their own 
countrymen. 

Field-Marshal the Marquess of Wellington to Lord Burghersh. 
St. Jeande Luz : January 14, 1814. 
My dear Burghersh, — I have received your several letters to 
the 1 7th December, and I am very much obliged to you for the in- 
teresting details which they contain. 

You will have seen the official accounts of our proceedings ; 
and the ministers will most probably have made you and Lord 
Aberdeen acquainted with the state of affairs here, as detailed to 
them in my reports. 



394 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

I was obliged to put the Spanish army into cantonments as soon 
as I passed the Nivelle. It would have been useless to attempt to 
keep them in the state in which they were, and I should have lost 
them all. This circumstance, but more particularly the state of 
the roads from the constant bad weather, has cramped my opera- 
tions since ; and I hope that I shall soon be able to renew them in 
style. 

In the meantime Soult has received another large reinforce- 
ment, being the third since the battle of Yitoria. 

We have found the French people exactly what we might expect 
(not from the lying accounts in the French newspapers, copied into 
all the others of the world, and believed by everybody, notwithstand- 
ing the internal sense of every man of their falsehood, but) from 
what we knew of the government of Napoleon, and the oppres- 
sion of all descriptions under which his subjects have laboured. It 
is not easy to describe the detestation of this man. What do you 
think of the French people running into our posts for protection 
from the French troops, with their bundles on their heads, and 
their beds, as you recollect to have seen the people of Portugal and 
Spain ? 

I entertain no doubt that, if the war should continue, and it 
shijuld suit the policy of the allied powers to declare for the HoiTse 
of Bourbon, the whole of France will rise as one man in their 
favour, with the exception, possibly, of some of the prefets, and of 
the Senate, and that they will be replaced on the throne with the 
utmost ease. I think it probable that the Allies will at last be 
obliged to take this line, as you will see the trick that Bony has 
endeavoured to play by his treaty with King Ferdinand. 

If Priscilla is with you, give my best love to her. I received 
her letter from Berlin ; and I have sat to Mr. Heaphey for a pic- 
ture for her, which I suppose will be sent to her unless one of her 
sisters or her mother should seize it. Believe me, &c. 

Wellington. 



CCXXXVIII. 



The exultant English public had enough and to spare of 
'Accounts of the Battle of Waterloo' in the years 1815 and 
1816 ; hut unfortunately they were for the most part lamentably 
incorrect. Certain people who had chanced to converse with an 



1800] EXGLISIl LETTERS. 395 

officer or private actually engaged in the combat, or had gossiped 
with a citizen of Brussels, or had cross-questioned any one of 
the numerous peasants of the great ' cockpit of Europe,' pub- 
lished a version of the event with an air of authority that im- 
posed on the unwary and irritated the experts. In the two 
following letters it will be seen that the Duke of Wellington 
himself, who at no time entertained the hope of ever read- 
ing a perfectly accurate account of all the details of his great 
triumph (vide 'Supplementary Despatches,' vol. x. p. 507), 
was particularly provoked by these crude and garbled publica- 
tions. 

Field-Marshal the Buhe of Wellington to Sir J. Sinclair, Bart. 

Bruxelles : April 28, 1816. 

Sir, — I have received your letter of the 20th. The people of 
England may be entitled to a detailed and accurate account of the 
battle of Waterloo, and I have no objection to their having it ; but 
I do object to their being misinformed and misled by those novels 
called 'Relations,' and 'Impartial Accounts,' kc, <fcc., of that 
transaction, containing the stories which curious travellers have 
picked up from peasants, private soldiers, individual officers, &c., 
and have published to the world as the truth. Hougoumont was 
no more fortified than La Haye Sainte ; and the latter v/as not 
lost for want of fortifications, but by one of those accidents from 
which human affairs are never entirely exempt. 

I am really disgusted with and ashamed of all that I have 
seen of the battle of Waterloo. The number of writings upon it 
would lead the world to suppose that the British army had never 
fought a battle before ; and there is not one which contains a true 
representation, or even an idea, of the transaction; and this is be- 
cause the writers have referred as above quoted instead of to the 
official sources and reports. 

It is not true that the British army was unprepared. The 
story of the Greek is equally unfounded as that of Yandamme 
having 46,000 men, upon which last point I refer you to Marshal 
Key's report, who upon that point must be the best authority. I 
have, &c. 

Wellington. 



896 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CCXXXIX. 

Field-Marshal the Duhe of Wellington to Francis Mudford. 

Paris : June 8, 1816. 

Sir, — I have received your letter of the 21st May. I have 
already explained to you my reasons for declining to give a formal 
permission that any work with the contents of which I should not 
be acquainted should be dedicated to me, with which you appear 
to be satisfied ; and I applied those reasons particularly to a 
work on the battle of Waterloo, because that, notwithstanding 
so much had been published on that event by so many people, 
there was but little truth. You now desire that I should point 
out fco 70U where you could receive information on this event, .on 
the truth of which you could rely. In answer to this desire, I can 
refer you only to my own despatches published in the * London 
Gazette.' General A.lava's report is the nearest to the truth of the 
other official reports published, but even that report contains some 
statements not exactly correct. The others that I have seen can- 
not be relied upon. To some of these may be attributed the source 
of the falsehoods since circulated through the medium of the un- 
official publications with which the press has abounded. Of these 
a remarkable instance is to be found in the report of a meeting be- 
tween Marshal Blucher and me at La Belle Alliance; and some 
have gone so far as to have seen the chair on which I sat down in 
that farm-house. It happens that the meeting took place after 
ten at night, at the village of Genappe ; and anybody who attempts 
to describe with truth the operations of the different armies will 
see that it could not be otherwise. The other part is not so ma- 
terial ; but, in truth, I was not off my horse till I returned to 
Waterloo between eleven and twelve o'clock at night. I have, &c. 

Wellington. 



CCXL. 

A string of searching questions respecting our military esta- 
blishments and regulations having been addressed by the Russian 
Ambassador, Prince Lieveu, on the part of his Emperor, 
General Sir Herbert Taylor, the matter was referred to the 
Duke of Wellington, who refused, with some indignation, to 



1800 J . ENGLISH LETTERS. 397 

recommend the Ministers to gratify the curiosity of the Rus- 
sian, or any foreign Government. The Duke considered there 
was sufficient publicity of details in the documents usually laid 
before Parliament, and that it would be inconvenient to encou- 
rage a comparative discussion of our system with that of other 
military establishments. And he had not forgotten that during 
his visit to Russia the War Minister at St. Petersburg refused 
him information on a simple point of military expenditure. 

Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington to Lord FitzRoy Somerset. 

Sudbourne : October 20, 1829. 

My dear Lord FitzRoy, — I wish that you would look at and 
show to Lord Hill my letter to Sir Herbert Taylor on the queries 
from the Emperor of Russia respecting the army. 

In truth the organisation and economy of our army are not its 
brilliant parts. Its conduct in the field is unrivalled. Its officers 
are gentlemen, and moreover the gentlemen of England. The 
organisation suits the purposes of our service in peace and war, 
scattered as the army is from Indus to the Pole, and from the 
pillars of Hercules to the Eastern extremities of the earth. But it 
would be ridiculous, when opened in all its details, to one of the 
military nations of Europe ; and that for the purpose of being 
criticised. Ever yours, &c. 

Wellington. 



CCXLl. 

The still waters of Wordsworth's affection ran very deep, 
and he never became entirely consoled for the loss of the brother 
whom he deplores in this touching letter. As he says in the 
fine verse that he dedicated to Captain Wordsworth's memory, 
the sailor ' to the sea had carried undying recollections ' of the 
Cumberland landscape, and was one of the very few who under- 
stood the poet's peculiar mission from the first. He was wrecked 
ofi'the BiU of Portland February 5, 1805. 

William Wordsivorth to Sir George Beaumont. 

Grasmere : February ] 1, 1805. 
My dear Friend, — The public papers will already have 
broken the shock which the sight of this letter will give you. 
You will have learned by them the loss of the Earl of Aber- 
gavenny, East Indiaman, and along with her, of a great propor- 
tion of the ciew — that of her captain, onr brother, and a most 
18* 



398 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

beloved brother lie was. This calamitous news we received at two 
o'clock to-day, and I write to you from a house of mourning. 
My poor sister, and my wife who loved him almost as we did (for 
he was one of the most amiable of men), are in miserable affliction, 
which I do all in my power to alleviate ; but Heaven knows, I 
want consolation myself. I can say nothing higher of my ever- 
dear brother, than that he was worthy of his sister, who is now 
weeping beside me, and of the friendship of Coleridge ; meek, 
affectionate, silently enthusiastic, loving all quiet things, and a poet 
in everything but words. 

Alas ! What is human life % This present moment. 

I thought this morning would have been devoted to the pleasing 
employment of writing a letter to amuse you in your confinement. 
I had singled out several little fragments (descriptions merely), which 
I purposed to have transcribed from my poems, thinking that the 
perusal of them might give you a few minutes' gi-atification, and 
now I am called to this melancholy office. 

I shall never forget your goodness in writing so long and 
interesting a letter to me under such circumstances. This letter 
also arrived by the same post which brought the unhappy iidinos 
of my brother's death, so that they were both put into my hands 
at the same moment. 

Your affectionate friend, 

W. Wordsworth. 



CCXLII. 

The assiduity of Mr. Dyce constrained Wordsworth, not 
much or naturally addicted to the pleasures of antiquarianism, 
to take an interest in the forgotten poets of the seventeenth cen- 
tury. But it is curious to note how easily the fate of Shirley 
brings him back to Cumherland, and to a story that might find 
its place in the ' Excursion.' 

William Wordsworth to Alexander Dyce. 

Eydal Mount : March 20, 1833. 
My dear Sir, — I have to thank you for the very valuable pre- 
sent of Shirley's works, just received. The preface is all that I 
have yet had time to read. It pleased me to find that you sympa- 
thised with me in admiration of the passage from the Duchess of 
Newcastle's poetry ; and you will be gratified to be told that I 



1800] ENGLISH LETTEItS. 309 

have the opinion you have expressed of that cold and false-hearted 
Frenchified coxcomb, Horace Walpole. 

Poor Shirley ! What a melancholy end was his ! And then to 
be so treated by Dryden ! One would almo^it suspect some private 
cause of dislike, such as is said to have influenced Swift in regard to 
Dryden himself. Shii-ley's death reminded me of a sad close of 
the life of a literary person, Sanderson by name, in the neighbour- 
ing county of Cumberland. He lived in a cottage by himself, 
though a man of some landed estate. His cottage, from want of 
care on his part, took fire in the night. The neighbours were 
alarmed; they ran to his rescue; he escaped, dreadfully burned, 
from the flames, and lay down (he was in his seventieth year), 
much exhausted under a tree, a few yards from the door. His 
friends in the meanwhile endeavoured to save what they could of 
his property from the flames. He inquired most anxiously after a 
box in which his manuscripts and published pieces had been 
deposited with a view to a publication of a laboriously-corrected 
edition ; and, upon being told that the box was consumed, he ex- 
pired in a few minutes, saying or rather sighing out the words, 
' Then I do not wish to live.' Poor man ! though the circulation 
of his works had not extended beyond a circle of fifty miles diame- 
ter, perhaps, at furthest, he was most anxious to survive in the 
memory of the few who were likely to hear of him. 

The publishing trade, I understand, continues to be much 
depressed, and authors are driven to solicit or invite subscriptions, 
as being in many cases the only means of giving their works to the 
world. I am always pleased to hear from you, and believe me, 

My dear Sir, 
Faithfully your obliged friend, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



CCXLHI. 

George Orahbe began to write as a contemporary of Gold- 
smith and Johnson, hut his realistic vigour attracted little notice 
until the tide set, with Scott and Byron, in the direction of 
naturalism. The middle-aged poet, who had almost resigned 
ambition, woke up to find himself famous among the younger 
men, and to renew his labours in hterature. But he received 
no greeting more genial or more flattering than this from the 
Minstrel of the Border. 



400 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

Walter Scott to George Crahhe. 

Ashestiel : October 2, 1809. 
Dear Sir, — I am just honoured with your letter, which gives 
me the more sensible pleasure, since it has gratified a ^\ish of more 
than twenty years' standing. It is, I think, fully that time since 
I was for great part of a very snowy winter, the inhabitant of an 
old house in the country, in a com-se of poetical study, so very 
like that of your admirably-painted ' Young Lad,' that T could 
hardly help saying, ' That's me ! ' when I was reading the tale to 
my family. Among the very few books which fell under my 
hands was a volume or two of Dodsley's Annual Register, one 
of which contained copious extracts from * The Village ' and ' The 
Library,' particularly the conclusion of book first of the former, and 
an extract from the latter, beginning with the description of the 
old romancers. I committed them most faithfully to my memory, 
where your verses must have felt themselves very strangely lodged 
in company with ghost stories, border riding ballads, scraps of old 
plays, and all the miscellaneous stuff which a strong appetite for 
reading, with neither means nor discrimination for selection, had 
assembled in the head of a lad of eighteen. New publications at 
that time were very rare in Edinburgh, and my means of procur- 
ing them very limited ; so that, after a long search for the poems 
which contained these beautiful specimens, and which had afforded 
me so much delight, I was fain to rest contented with the extracts 
from the Kegister, which I could repeat at this moment. You 
may, therefore, guess my sincere delight when I saw your poems at 
a later period assume the rank in the public consideration which 
they so well deserve. It was a triumph to my own immature 
taste to find I had anticipated the applause of the learned and 
of the critical, and I became very desirous to offer my gratulor, 
among the more important plaudits which you have had from 
every quarter. I should certainly have availed myself of the free- 
masonry of authorship (for our trade may claim to be a mystery 
as well as Abhorson's), to address to you a copy of a new poetical 
attempt which I have now upon the anvil, and esteem myself par- 
ticularly obliged to Mr. Hatchard and to your goodness acting 
upon his information, for giving me the opportunity of paving the 
way for such a freedom. I am too proud of the compliments you 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 401 

honour me with, to affect to decline them ; and with respect to the 
comparative view I have of my own labours and yours, I can only 
assure you that none of my little folks, about the formation of 
whose taste and principles I may be supposed naturally sohcitous, 
have ever read any of my own poems, while yours have been our 
regular evening's amusement. My eldest girl begins to read well, 
and enters as well into the humour as into the sentiment of your 
admirable descriptions of human life. As for rivalry, I think it 
has seldom existed among those who know by experience, that 
there are much better things in the world than literary reputa- 
tion, and that one of the best of these good things is the regard 
and friendship of those deservedly and generally esteemed for 
their worth or their talents. I believe many dilettanti authors do 
cocker themselves up into a great jealousy of anything that inter- 
feres with what they are pleased to call their fame, but I should 
as soon think of nursing one of my own fingers into a whitlow for 
my private amusement, as encouraging such a feeling. I am tridy 
sorry to observe you mention bad health. Those who contribute 
so much to the improvement as well as the delight of society should 
escape this evil. I hope, however, that one day your state of 
health may permit you to view this country. I have very few 
calls to London, but it will greatly add to the interest of those 
which may occur, that you will permit me the honour of waiting 
upon you in my journey, and assuring you, in person, of the eaily 
admiration and sincere respect with which I have the honour to 
be, dear Sir, yours, &c., 

Walter Scott. 



CCXLIV. 

When Dr. Dibdin published his ' Bibliographical and Anti- 
quarian Tour in France and Germany,' he desired to send pre- 
sentation copies of the earliest impressions to Southey, Campbell, 
Walter Scott, and Dr. Howley, then Bishop of London. 

In Walter Scott's case Dr. Dibdin adopted the ruse, of re- 
questing the great novelist to convey a copy to the Author of 
Wuverley, on the plea that by no other means would the work 
be likely to reach its intended destination. This was the adroit 
reply. 



402 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Sir Walter Scott to tlie Rev. T. Frognall Dihdin. 

Edinburgli: June 13, 1821. 

My dear Sir, — Upon my return from a little excursion to tlio 
country, I found your splendid book, which I think one of the 
most handsome that ever came from the British press, and return 
you my best thanks for placing it in my possession as a mark of your 
regard. You have contrived to strew flowers over a path which, 
in other hands, would have proved a very dull one, and all Biblio- 
manes must remember you long, as he who first united their anti- 
quarian details with good-humoured raillery and cheerfulness. I 
am planning a room at Abbotsford to be built next year for my 
books, and I will take care that your valued gift holds a place 
upon my future shelves, as much honoured as its worth deserves, 
and for that purpose an ingenious artist of Edinburgh has promised 
to give your Tour an envelope worthy of the contents. You see 
Jrom all this, that I have no idea of suffering these splendid 
volumes to travel any farther in quest of the nameless and unknown 
Author of Waverley. As I have met with some inconveniences in 
consequence of pubHc opinion having inaccurately identified me 
with this gentleman, I think I am fairly enabled to indemnify my- 
self by intercepting this valuable testimony of your regard. 

The public have called for a new edition of old John Dryden's 
"Works, on which I bestowed much labour many years ago. I hope 
you will let me place a set of these volumes upon your shelves in 
return — which are just on the point of issuing from the press, 
and will wait on you in the course of a fortnight. I hope Ames 
does not slumber ? I am always, 

My dear Sir, 
Your obliged and faithful servant, 

AValtjer Scott. 

CCXLV. 

Twelve months later a vacancy occurred in the Roxhurghe 
Club by the death of one of its leading members, and certainly 
its chief Bibliomaniac, Sir M. Sykes ; and at the suggestion of 
Dr. Bibdin the committee agreed that he should repeat his 7'use 
by writing Scott a letter requesting to be informed whether he 
thought the author of Waverley would like to become a member. 
Hence another equally curious and characteristic rejoinder. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 403 

Sir Walter Scott to the Rev. T. Frognall Dibdin. 

Edinburgh : February 26, 1823. 

My dear Sir, — I was duly favoured with your letter, which 
proves one point against the unknown author of Waverley, namely, 
that he is certainly a Scotsman, since no other nation pretends to 
the advantage of the Second Sight. Be he who or where he may, 
he must certainly feel the very high honour which has selected him 
(Nominis Umbra) to a situation so worthy of envy. 

As his personal appearance in the fraternity is not like to be 
a speedy event, one may presume he may be desirous of offering 
some test of his gratitude in the shape of a reprint, or such hke 
kickshaw ; and for that purpose you had better send him tho 
statutes of your learned body which I will engage shall reach him 
in safety. It will follow as a characteristic circumstance, that the 
table of the Roxburghe, like that of King Arthur, will have a 
vacant chair like that of Banquo's at Macbeth's banquet. But if 
this author who ' hath fern- seed and walketh invisible,' should not 
appear to claim it before I come to London (should I ever be there 
again), with permission of the Club, I, who have something of 
adventure in me, although ' a knight like Sir Andrew Aguecheek 
dubb'd with unhack'd rapier and on ca-rpet consideration ' would, 
rather than lose the chance of a dinner with the Boxburghe Club, 
take upon me the adventure of the siege perilous, and reap some 
amends for perils and scandals into which the invisible champion has 
drawn me by being his Locum tenens on so distinguished an occa- 
sion. 

It will be not uninteresting to you to know that a fraternity is 
about to be established here something on the plan of the Roxburghe 
Club, but having Scottish antiquities chiefly in view. It is to be 
called the Bannatyne Club, from the celebrated antiquary George 
Bannatyne, who compiled by far the greatest manuscript record of 
old Scottish poetry. Their first meeting is to be held on Thursday, 
when the health of the Boxburghe Club will nob fail to be drank. 

I am, dear Sir, &c. 

Walter Scott. 



404 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CCXLVI. 

A third letter from Sir Walter Scott on receipt of Dr. Dib- 
din's formal intimation of bis election to the Olub, closes the story 
of this literary fiction. In tbe preface to ' Peveril of the Peak,' 
Scott recorded with pride tbe circumstance that be bad been 
elected to tbe Roxburgbe Club merely as tbe author of ^ Wa- 
verley ' and without any other designation. 

Sir IValter Scott to the Rev. T. Frognall Dihdin. 

Edinburgh : May 1, 1823. 
My dear Sii% — I am duly honoured with your very interesting 
and flattering communication. Our highlanders have a proverbial 
saying, founded on the traditional renown of Fingal's dog, ' If it is 
not Bran,' they say, * it is Bran's brother.' Now this is always 
taken as a compliment of the first class, whether applied to an 
actual cur or parabolically to a biped, and upon the same principle 
it is with no small pride and gratification that the Roxburghe 
Club have been so very flatteringly disposed to accept me as a 
locum tenens for the unknown author whom they have 'made the 
child of their adoption. As sponsor I will play my part as well 
as I can ; and should the real Simon Pure make his appearance, 
to push me from my stool, why I shall have at least the satisfac- 
tion of having enjoyed it. 

They cannot say but what I bad the crown. 

Besides, I hope the Devil does not owe me such a shame. 

Mad Tom tells us that the Prince of Darkness is a gentleman, 
and this mysterious personage will I hope partake as much of his 
honourable feelings as of his invisibility, and resuming his incognito 
permit me to enjoy in his stead an honour which I value more than 
I do that which has been bestowed on me by the credit of having 
written any of his novels. 

I regret deeply I cannot soon avail myself of my new privi- 
leges, but Courts which I am under the necessity of attending 
officially set down in a few days, and hei mild do not arise for 
Vacation until July. But I hope to be in Town next Spring, and 
certainly I have one strong additional reason for a London Journey 
furnished by the pleasure of meeting the Koxburghe Club. Make 



1800] EXGLISH LETTEBS. 405 

my most respectful compliments to the members at their next 
merry meeting, and express in the warmest manner my sense of 
obligation. 

I am always, my dear Sir, 
Yery much your most obedient servant, 

Walter Scott. 



COXLVII. 

Under the nom de plume of Peter Plymley; the Rev. Sydney 
Smith, in a series of ten letters addressed ' to my brother Abra- 
ham/ joined in that controversy which, lasting, as it did, from 
Pitt to Peel, was the most persistent and most wearying political 
quarrel of modern times. Ranging himself among- the followers 
of Grenville and Fox in advocating Hberal concessions to the 
Roman Catholics, he fired his first shot in 1807, the effect of 
which has been likened to that of ' a spark on a heap of gun- 
powder.' Unfortunately the writer's vigorous arguments and 
cheerful humour were marred by overmuch bitterness and scoff- 
ing. Although the authorship of these letters was never really 
proved by the Government of the day, their vivid resemblance 
to the tone of Sydney Smith's conversation virtually betrayed 
him. 

Peter Ply mley to his brother Ahrahcnvt. 

1807. . 

Dear Abraham, — A worthier and better man than yourself 
does not exist ; but I have always told you, from the time of our 
boyhood, that you were a bit of a goose. Your parochial affairs 
are governed with exemplary order and regularity : you are as 
powerful in the vestry as Mr. Perceval is in the House of Com- 
mons, and, I must say, with much more reason ; nor do I know 
any church where the faces and smock-frocks of the congregation 
are so clean, or their eyes so uniformly directed to the preaclier. 
There is another point upon which I will do you ample justice; 
and that is, that the eyes so directed towards you are wide open ; 
for the rustic has, in general, good principles, though he caimot 
control his animal habits, and, however loud he may snore, his 
face is perpetually turned toward the fountain of orthodoxy. 

Having done you this act of justice, I shall proceed, according 
to our ancient intimacy and familiarity, to explain to you my 
opinions about the Catholics, and to reply to yours. 

In the first place, my sweet Abraham, the Pope is not landed 



406 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

— nor are there any curates sent out after him — nor has he been 
hid at St. Alban's by the Dowager Lady Spencer — nor dined 
privately at Holland House — nor been seen near Dropmore. If 
these fears exist (which I do not believe), they exist only in the 
mind of the Chancellor of the Exchequer ; they emanate from his 
zeal for the Protestant interest; and, though they reflect the 
highest honour upon the delicate irritability of his faith, must 
certainly be considered as more ambiguous proofs of the sanity and 
vigour of his understanding. By this time, however, the best in- 
formed clergy in the neighbourhood of the metropolis are convinced 
that the rumoui* is without foundation ; and, though the Pope is 
probably hovering about our coast in a fishing-smack, it is most 
likely he will fall a prey to the vigilance of our cruisers ; and it is 
certain he has not yet polluted the Protestantism of our soil. 
Exactly in the same manner the story of the wooden gods seized 
at Charing Cross, by an order from the Foreign Office, turns out 
to be without the shadow of a foundation : instead of the angels 
and archangels, mentioned by the informer, nothing was discovered 
but a wooden image of Lord Mulgrave, going down to Chatham, 
as a head piece for the Spanker gun- vessel : it was an jexact re- 
semblance of his Lordship in his military uniform, and therefore as 
little like a god as can well be imagined. 

Having set your fears at rest as to the extent of the conspiracy 
formed against the Protestant religion, I will now come to the 
argument itself. 

You say these men interpret the Scriptures in an unorthodox 
manner, and that they eat their god. Yery likely. All this may 
seem very important to you, who live fourteen miles from a mar- 
ket town, and, from long residence upon your living, are become a 
kind of holy vegetable ; and, in a theological sense, it is highly im- 
portant. But I want soldiers and sailors for the state ; I want to 
make a greater use than I now can do of a poor country full of 
men; I want to render the military service popular among the 
Irish ; to check the power of France ; to make every possible 
exertion for the safety of Europe, which in twenty years time will 
be nothing but a mass of French slaves : and then you, and ten 
other such boobies as you, call out — ' For God's sake, do not think 
of raising cavalry and infantry in Ireland ! . . . They interpret 
the Epistle to Timothy in a different manner from what we do ! 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 407 

.... They eat a bit of wafer every Sunday, which they call 
their God !'....! wish to my soul they would eat you, and 
such reasoners as you are. What ! when Turk, Jew, Heretic, 
Infidel, Catholic, Protestant, are all combined against this coun- 
try; when men of every religious persuasion, and no religious 
persuasion; when the population of half the globe is up in arms 
against us, are we to stand examining our generals and armies as 
a bishop examines a candidate for holy orders, and to suffer no 
one to bleed for England who does not agree with you about the 
2nd of Timothy ? You talk about Catholics ! If you and your 
brotherhood have been able to persuade the country into a con- 
tinuation of this grossest of all absurdities, you have ten times the 
power which the Catholic clergy ever had in their best days. 
Louis XIY., when he revoked the Edict of Nantes, never thought 
of preventing the Protestants from fighting his battles ; and gained 
accordingly some of his most splendid victories by the talents of 
his Protestant generals. No power in Europe, but yourselves, has 
ever thought for these hundred years past of asking whether a 
bayonet is Catholic, or Presbyterian, or Lutheran; but whether 
it is sharp and well-tempered. A bigot delights in public ridicule ; 
for he begins to think he is a martyr. I can promise you the full 
enjoyment of this pleasure from one extremity of Europe to the 
other. I am as disgusted with the nonsense of the Koman Catholic 
religion as you can be, and no man who talks such nonsense shall 
ever tithe the product of the earth, nor meddle with the ecclesias- 
tical establishment in any shape ; but what have I to do with the 
speculative nonsense of his theology, when the object is to elect 
the mayor of a country town, or to appoint a colonel of a marching 
regiment 1 Will a man discharge the solemn impertinences of the 
one office with less zeal, or shrink from the bloody boldness of the 
other with greater timidity, because the blockhead believes in all 
the Catholic nonsense of the real presence? I am sorry there 
should be such impious folly in the world, but I should be ten 
times a gi-eater fool than he is, if I refused, in consequence of his 
folly, to lead him out against the enemies of the state. Your 
whole argument is wrong : the state has nothing whatever to do 
with theological errors which do not violate the common rules of 
morality, and militate against the fair power of the ruler : it leaves 
all these errors to you, and to such as you. You have every tenth 



408 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

porker in your parisli for refuting them ; and take care that you 
are vigilant, and logical in the task. I love the Church as well as 
you do ; but you totally mistake the nature of an establishment, 
when you contend that it ought to be connected with the military 
find civil career of every individual in the state. It is quite right 
that there should be one clergyman to every pai-ish interpreting 
the Scriptures after a particular manner, ruled by a regular 
hierarchy, and paid with a rich proportion of haycocks and wheat- 
sheafs. When I have laid this foundation for a rational religion 
in the state — when I have placed ten thousand well educated men 
in different parts of the kingdom to preach it up, and compelled 
every body to pay them, whether they hear them or not — I have 
taken such measures as I know must always procure an immense 
majority in favour of the Established Church ; but I can go no 
further. I cannot set up a civil inquisition, and say to one, you 
shall not be a butcher because you are not orthodox ; and prohibit 
another from brewing, and a third from administering the law, 
and a fourth from defending the country. If common justice did 
not prohibit me from such a conduct, common sense would. The 
advantage to be gained from quitting the heresy would, make it 
shameful to abandon it ; and men who had once left the Church 
would continue in such a state of alienation from a point of honour, 
and transmit that spirit to the latest posterity. This is just the 
effect your disqualifying laws have produced. They have fed Dr. 
Kees, and Dr. Kippis ; crowded the congregation of the Old Jewry 
to suffocation ; and enabled every sublapsarian, and supralapsarian, 
and semi-pelagian clergyman, to build himself a neat brick chapel, 
and live with some distant resemblance to the state of a gentleman. 
You say the King's coronation oath will not allow him to consent 
to any relaxation of the Catholic laws. Why not relax the Catholic 
laws as well as the laws against Protestant dissenters 1 If one is 
contrary to his oath, the other must be so too ; for the spirit of the 
oath is, to defend the Church establishment, which the Quaker and 
the Presbyterian differ from as much or more than the Catholic ; 
and yet his Majesty has repealed the Corporation and Test Act in 
Ireland, and done more for the Catholics of both kingdoms than 
had been done for them since the Reformation. In 1778, the 
Ministers said nothing about the royal conscience; in 1793 no 
conscience; in 1804 no conscience; the common feelings of hu- 



1800] UNGLISH LETTERS. 409 

manity and justice tlien seem to have had their fullest influence 
upon the advisers of the crown : but in 1807 — a year, I suppose, 
eminently fruitful in moral and religious scruples, (as some years 
are fruitful in apples, some in hops,) — it is contended by the well- 
paid John Bowles, and by Mr. Perceval (who tried to be well 
paid), that that is now perjury which we had hitherto called policy 
and benevolence ! Keligious liberty has never made such a stride 
as under the reign of his present Majesty ; nor is there any in- 
stance in the annals of our history, where so many infamous and 
damnable laws have been repealed as those against the Catholics 
which have been put an end to by him : and then, at the close of 
this useful policy, his advisers discover that the very measures of 
concession and indulgence, or (to use my own language) the 
measures of justice, which he has been pursuing through the whole 
of his reign, are contrary to the oath he takes at its commence- 
ment ! That oath binds his Majesty not to consent to any measure 
contrary to the interest of the Established Church : but who is to 
judge of the tendency of each particular measure % Not the King 
alone ; it can never be the intention of this law that the King, who 
listens to the advice of his Parliament upon a road bill, should re- 
ject it upon the most important of all measures. Whatever be his 
own private judgment of the tendency of any ecclesiastical bill, he 
complies most strictly with his oath if he is guided in that par- 
ticular point by the advice of his Parliament, who may be pre- 
sumed to understand its tendency better, than the King, or any 
other individual. You say, if Parliament had been unanimous in 
their opinion of the absolute necessity for Lord Howick's bill, and 
the King had thought it pernicious, he would have been perjured 
if he had not rejected it. I say, on the contrary, his Majesty 
would have acted in the most conscientious manner, and have 
complied most scrupulously with his oath, if he had sacrificed his 
own opinion to the opinion of the great council of the nation; 
because the probability was that such opinion was better than his 
own ; and npon the same principle, in common life, you give up 
your opinion to your physician, your lawyer, and your builder. 

You admit this bill did not compel the King to elect Catholic 
officers, but only gave him the option of doing so if he pleased ; 
but you add, that the King was right in not trusting such dan- 
gerous power to himself or his successors. Now you are either to 



410 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

suppose that the King for the time being has a zeal for the Catholic 
establishment, or that he has not. If he has not, where is the 
danger of giving such an option % If you suppose that he may be 
influenced by such an admiration of the Catholic religion, why did 
his present Majesty, in the year 1804, consent to that bill which 
empowered the Crown to station ten thousand Catholic soldiers in 
any part of the kingdom, and placed them absolutely at the dis- 
posal of the Crown % If the King of England for the time being is 
a good Protestant, there can be no danger in making the Catholic 
eligible to anything : if he is not, no power can possibly be so dan- 
gerous as that conveyed by the bill last quoted : to which, in point 
of peril, Lord Ho wick's bill is a mere joke. But the real fact is, 
one bill opened a door to his Majesty's advisers for trick, jobbing, 
and intrigue ; the other did not. Besides, what folly to talk to 
me of an oath, which, under all possible circumstances, is to pre- 
vent the relaxation of the Catholic laws ! for such a solemn appeal 
to God sets all conditions and contingencies at defiance. Suppose 
Bonaparte was to retrieve the only very great blunder he has 
made, and were to succeed, after repeated trials, in making an im- 
pression upon Ireland, do you think we should hear any thing of 
the impediment of a coronation oath % or would the spirit of this 
country tolerate for an hour such ministers, and such unheard-of 
nonsense, if the most distant prospect existed of conciliating the 
Catholics by every species even of the most abject concession % 
And yet, if your argument is good for anything, the coronation 
oath ought to reject, at such a moment, every tendency to concilia- 
tion, and to bind Ireland for ever to the crown of France. 

I found in your letter the usual remarks about fire, fagot, and 
bloody Mary. Are you aware, my dear Priest, that there were as 
many persons put to death for religious opinions under the mild 
Elizabeth as under the bloody Mary? The reign of the former 
was, to be sure, ten times as long ; but I only mention the fact, 
merely to show you that something depends upon the age in which 
men live, as well as on their religious opinions. Three hundred 
years ago, men burnt and hanged each other for these opinions. 
Time has softened Catholic as well as Protestant : they both 
required it ; though each perceives only his own improvement, and 
is blind to that of the other. We are all the creatures of circum- 
stances. I know not a kinder and better man than yourself; but 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 411 

you (if you had lived in those times) would certainly have roasted 
your Catholic : and I promise you, if the first exciter of this reli- 
gious mob had been as powerful then as he is now, you would soon 
have been elevated to the mitre. I do not go the length of saying 
that the world has suffered as much from Protestant as from 
Catholic persecution ; far from it ; but you should remember the 
Catholics had all the power, when the idea first started up in the 
world that there could be two modes of faith ; and that it was 
much more natural they should attempt to crush this diversity of 
opinion by great and cruel efforts, than that the Protestants should 
rage against those who differed from them, when the very basis of 
their system was complete freedom in all spiritual matters. 

i cannot extend my letter any further at present, but you shall 
soon hear from me again. Yoa tell me I am a party man. I 
hope I shall always be so, when I see my country in the hands of 
a pert London joker and a second-rate lawyer. Of the first, no 
other good is known than that he makes pretty Latin verses ; the 
second seems to me to have the head of a country parson, and the 
tongue of an Old Eailey lawyer. 

If I could see good measures pursued, I care not a farthing 
who is in power ; but I have a passionate love for common justice, 
and for common sense, and I abhor and despise every man who 
builds up his political fortune upon their ruin. 

God bless you, reverend Abraham, and defend you from the 
Pope, and all of us from that administration who seek power 
by opposing a measure which Burke, Pitt, and Pox all considered 
as absolutely necessary to the existence of the country. 



ccxLvin. 

Would it he uncharitable to surmise that the witty parson 
would not have written the following- letter had he been a good 
shot. He himself has admitted that the birds on Lord Grey's 
preserves seemed to consider the muzzle of his gan as their 
safest position, and that he gave up shooting because ' I never 
could help shutting my eyes when I fired my gun, so ^vas not 
likely to improve.' 



412 ENGLISH LETTERS. FITOO- 

The Rev. Sydney Smith to Lady Holland. 

June 24, 1809. 

My clear Lady Holland, — This is the third day since I arrived 
at the village of Heslington, two hundred miles from London. I 
missed the hackney-coaches for the first three or four days in 
York, but after that, prepared myself for the change from the 
aurelia to the grub state, and dare say I shall become fat, torpid, 
and motionless with a very good grace. 

I have laid down two rules for the country : first, not to smite 
the partridge ; for, if I fed the poor, and comforted the sick, and 
instructed the ignorant, yet I should be nothing worth, if I smote 
the partridge. 

If anything ever endangers the Church, it will be the strong 
propensity to shooting for which the clergy are remarkable. Ten 
thousand good shots dispersed over the country do more harm to 
the cause of i-eligion than the arguments of Yoltaire and Rousseau. 
The squire never reads, but is it possible he can believe that reli- 
gion to be genuine whose ministers destroy his game 1 I mean to 
come to town once a year, though of that, I suppose, I shall soon 
be weary, finding my mind growing weaker and weaker, and my 
acquaintance gradually falling off. I shall by that time have taken 
myself again to shy tricks, pull about my watch-chain, and become 
(as I was before) your abomination. I am very much obliged to 
Allen for a long and very sensible letter upon the subject of Spain. 
After all, surely the fate of Spain depends upon the fate of 
Austria. Pray tell the said Don Juan, if he comes northward to 
visit the authors of his existence, he must make this his resting- 
place. Mrs. Sydney is all rural bustle, impatient for the parturi- 
tion of hens and pigs ; I wait patiently, knowing all will come in 
due season ! 

Sydney Smith. 

CCXLIX. 

This letter was written during a meeting of the British Asso- 
ciation at Glasgow, under the presidency of the Marquess of 
Breadalbane. Sydney Smith was a voracious and rapid reader, 
and Mr. Hay ward, in one of his essays, likens his method of 
reading to that of Dr. Johnson, who could tear out the heart of 
a book. In this wise he acquired a considerable amount of 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 413 

scientific knowledore, especially of geology ; but, says Mr. Hay- 
ward, ' he was too liberal and enlightened a divine to believe 
that sound religion could be undermined by the diifusion of 
truth, and when the cry of Moses against Murchison was 
raised at York, he gallantly sided with the geologist.' 

The Rev. Sydney Smith to Roderick Murchison. 

Oombe Florey : 1840. 
Dear Murchison, — Many thanks for your kind recollections of 
me. in sending me your pamphlet, which I shall read with all 
attention and care. My observation has been necessarily so much 
fixed on missions of another description, that lam hardly recon- 
ciled to zealots going out w^ith voltaic batteries and crucibles, for 
the conversion of mankind, and baptizing their fellow-creatures 
with the mineral acids ; but I will endeavour to admire, and 
believe in you. My real alarm for you is, that by some late deci- 
sions of the magistrates, you come under the legal definition of 
strollers', and nothing would give me more pain than to see 
any of the sections upon the mill, calculating the resistance of the 
air, and showing the additional quantity of flour which might be 
ground in vacuo, — each man in the mean time imagining himself a 
Galileo. Mrs. Sydney has eight distinct illnesses, and I have nine. 
We take something every hour, and pass the mixture from one to 
the other. About forty years ago, I stopped an infant in Lord 
Breadalbane's grounds, and patted his face. The nurse said, ' Hold 
up your head, Lord Glenorchy.' This was the President of your 
society. He seems to be acting an honourable and enlightened 
part in life. Pray present my respects to him and his beautiful 
Marchioness. 

Sydney Smith. 



CCL. 

This is a very characteristic note written to the author of 

the ' Ingoldsby Legends.' 

The Rev. Sydney Smith to the Rev. R. H. Barham. 

39, Green Street: November 15, 1841. 
Many thanks, my dear Sir, for your kind present of game. If 
there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is the roast 
19 



414 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

pheasant and bread sauce — barn door fowls for dissenters, but for 
the real cburchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk — the 
pheasant, the pheasant ! 

Ever yours, 

Sydney Smith. 



CCLI. 

No man in his day was more earnest than Sydney Smith in 
endeavours to procure redress of grievances, social, religious^ * 
or moral. He was ever ready to wage war against what he con- 
sidered public wrongs, great or small ; and would take up his 
pen in good-humoured ridicule of railway directors or sporting 
parsons as readily as in eager denunciation (though not invari- 
ably in the best taste), of some religious disabilities or political 
shortcomings. 

The Rev. Sydney Smith to the Editor of the ' Morning Chronicle.* 

June 7, 1842. 

Sir, — Since the letter upon railroads, which you were good 
enough to insert in your paper, I have had some conversation with 
two gentlemen officially connected with the Great Western. 
Though nothing could be more courteous than their manner, nor 
more intelligible than their arguments, I remain unshaken as to 
the necessity of keeping the doors open. 

There is in the first place, the effect of imagination, the idea 
that all escape is impossible, that (let what will happen) you must 
sit quiet in first class No. 2, whether they are pounding you into 
a jam, or burning you into a cinder, or crumbling you into a 
human powder. These excellent directors, versant in wood and 
metal, seem to require that the imagination should be sent by some 
other conveyance, and that only loads of unimpassioned, un- 
intellectual flesh and blood should be darted along on the Western 
rail ; whereas, the female homo is a screaming, parturient, inter- 
jectional, hysterical animal, whose delicacy and timidity, mono- 
polists (even much as it may surprise them) must be taught to 
consult. The female, in all probability, never would jump out ; 
but she thinks she may jump out when she pleases, and this is 
intensely comfortable. 

There are two sorts of dangers which hang over railroads. 
The one retail dangers, where individuals only are concerned ; the 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 413 

other, wholesale dangers, where the whole train or a considerable 
part of it, is put in jeopardy. For the first danger there is a 
remedy in the prudence of individuals ; for the second there is 
none. No man need be drunk, nor need he jump out when the 
carriage is in motion ; but in the present state of science it is 
impossible to guard effectually against the fracture of the axle-tree, 
or the explosion of the engine ; and if the safety of the one party 
cannot be consulted but by the danger of the other, if the foolish 
cannot be restrained but by the unjust incarceration of the wise, 
the prior consideration is due to those who have not the remedy 
for the evil in their own hands. 

But the truth is — and so (after a hundred monopolising 
experiments on public patience) the railroad directors will find it — 
there can be no other dependence for the safety of the public than 
the care which every human being is inclined to take of his own 
life and limbs. Every thing beyond this is the mere lazy tyranny 
of monopoly, which makes no distinction between human beings 
and brown paper parcels. If riding were a monopoly, as travelling 
in carriages is now become, there are many gentlemen whom I see 
riding in the Park upon such false principles, that I am sure the 
cantering and galloping directors would strap them, in the ardour 
of their affection, to the saddle, padlock them to the stirrups, or 
compel them to ride behind a policeman of the stable; and 
nothing but a motion from O'Brien, or an order from Gladstone, 
could release them. 

Let the company stick up all sorts of cautions and notices 
within their carriages and without; bat, after that, no doors 
locked. If one door is allowed to be locked, the other will soon 
be so too ; there is no other security to the public than absolute 
prohibition of the practice. The directors and agents of the 
Great AYestern are individually excellent men; but the moment 
men meet in public boards, they cease to be collectively excellent. 
The fund of morality becomes less, as the individual contributors 
increase in number. I do not accuse such respectable men of 
any wilful violation of truth, but the memoirs which they are 
about to present will be, without the scrupulous cross-examination 
of a committee of the House of Commons, mere waste paper. 

But the most absurd of all legislative enactments is this 
hcmiplegian law — an act of Parliament to protect one side of the 



416 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

fcody and not the other. If the wheel comes off on the right, the 
open door is uppermost, and every one is saved. If, from any 
sudden avalanche on the road, the carriage is prostrated to the 
left, the locked door is uppermost, all escape is impossible, and 
the railroad martyrdom begins. 

Leave me to escape in the best way I can, as the fire ojfices 
very kindly permit me to do. I know very well the danger of 
getting out on the off-side ; but escape is the affair of a moment ; 
suppose a train to have passed at that moment, I know I am safe 
from any other trains for twenty minutes or half an hour ; and if 
I do get out on the off side, I do not remain in the valley of 
death between the two trains, but am over to the opposite bank 
in an instant — only half-roasted, or merely browned, certainly not 
done enough for the G-reat Western directors. 

On Saturday morning last, the wheel of the public carriage, in 
which a friend of mine was travelling, began to smoke, but was 
pacified by several buckets of water, and proceeded. After five 
more miles, the whole carriage was full of smoke, the train was 
with difficulty stopped, and the flagrant vehicle removed. The 
axle was nearly in two, and in another mile would have been 
severed. 

Railroad travelling is a delightful improvement of human life. 
Man is become a bird ; he can fly longer and quicker than a Solan 
goose. The mamma rushes sixty miles in two hours to the aching 
finger of her conjugating and declining grammar boy. The 
early Scotchman scratches himself in the morning mists of the 
North, and has his porridge in Piccadilly before the setting sun. 
The Puseyite priest, after a rush of one hundred miles, appears with 
his volume of nonsense at the breakfast of his bookseller. Every 
thing is near, every thing is immediate — time, distance, and delay 
are abolished. But, though charming and fascinating as all this 
is, we must not shut our eyes to the price we shall pay for it. 
There will be every three or four years some dreadful massacre — 
whole trains will be hurled down a precipice, and two or three hun- 
dred persons will be killed on the spot. There will be every now 
and then a great combustion of human bodies, as there has been at 
Paris ; then all the newspapers up in arms — a thousand regulations, 
forgotten as soon as the directors dare — loud screams of the 
velocity .whistle — monopoly locks and bolts, as before. The 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 417 

locking plea of directors is philanthropy ; and I admit that to 
guard men from the commission of moral evil is as philanthropical 
as to prevent physical suffering. There is, I allow, a strong 
propensity in mankind to travel on railroads without paying ; and 
to lock mankind in tiU they have completed their share of the 
contract is benevolent, because it guards the species from degrading 
and immoral conduct, but to burn or crush a whole train merely 
to prevent a few immoral insides from not paying, is I hope a 
little more than Kipon or Gladstone will bear. 

We have been, up to this point, very careless of our railway 
regulations. The first person of rank who is killed will put every 
thing in order, and produce a code of the most careful rules. I 
hope it will not be one of the bench of bishops ; but should it be so 
destined, let the burnt bishop — the unwilling Latimer — remember 
that, however painful gradual concoction by fire may be, his death 
will produce unspeakable benefit to the public. Even Sodor and 
Man will be better than nothing. From that moment the bad 
effects of the monopoly are destroyed ; no more fatal deference to 
the directors ; no despotic incarceration, no barbarous inattention 
to the anatomy and physiology of the human body ; no commit- 
ment to locomotive prisons with warrant. We shall then find it 
possible 

* Voyager libra sans mourir.' 

Sydney Smith. 



CCLII. 

Coleridge took a little tour through Somersetshire in 1797 ; 
he was always particularly troublesome in a coach, insisting 
upon talking to everybody with that ceaseless volubility for 
which he was so famous. For once, however, he seems to have 
met his match, and indeed to have had the tables turned upon 
him with some violence. Mr. George Burnet was then residing 
with the Ooleridges at Stowey, and was supposed to be a con- 
vert to Pantisocracy. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge to Josiah Wade. 

Stowey: 1797. 
My dear friend, — I am here after a most tiresome journey ; 
in the course of which a woman asked me if I knew one 
Coleridge, of Bristol \ I answered, T had heard of him. Do you 



418 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

know, (quoth she) that that vile jacobin villain drew away a young 
man from our parish, one Burnet, &c. and in this strain did the 
woman continue for near an hour ; heaping on me every name of 
abuse that the parish of Billingsgate could supply. I listened very 
particularly ; appeared to approve all she said, exclaiming, ' dear 
me ! ' two or three times, and, in fine, so completely won the 
woman's heart by my civilities, that I had not the courage to 
undeceive her. 

S. T. Coleridge. 

P.S. You are a good prophet. Oh, into what a state have 
tho scoundrels brought this devoted kingdom. 

If the House of Commons would but melt down their faces, 
it would greatly assist the copper currency — we should have brass 
enough. 



CCLIII. 

Mr. Cottle was proud to remember in his old age that he, a 
provincial bookseller, had been the publisher of the first volumes 
of three such poets as Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Southey. 
The transaction discussed in the following letter is a no less 
momentous one than the publication of the famous ' Lyrical 
Ballads.' The poets were then living at AUfoxden, near Stowey, 
and the caballing against Wordsworth to which Coleridge refers 
was the result of the intense terror caused in the village by 
Wordsworth's habit of ' roaming over the hills at night, like a 
partridge.' At last the skeleton of a child, as it was supposed, 
was discovered close to AUfoxden, and they were about to march 
W^ordsworth off on suspicion of murder, when the bones were 
most vexatiously proved to be those of a dog, 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge to Joseph Cottle. 

May, 1798. 

My dear Cottle, — Neither Wordsworth nor myself could have 
been otherwise than uncomfortable, if any but yourself had 
received from us the first offer of our Tragedies, and of the 
volume of Wordsworth's Poems. At the same time, we did not 
expect that you could with prudence and propriety, advance such 
a sum as we should want at the time we specified. In short, we 
both regard the publication of our Tragedies as an evil. It is not 
impossible but that in happier times, they may be brought on the 
Ktage : and to throw away this chance for a mere triffe, would bo 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 419 

to make the present moment act fraudulently and usuriously 
towards the future time. 

My Tragedy employed and strained all my thoughts and 
faculties for six or seven months ; Wordsworth, consumed far 
more time, and far more thought, and far more genius. We 
consider the publication of them an evil on any terms ; but our 
thoughts were bent on a plan for the accomplishment of which a 
certain sum was necessary, (the whole) at that particular time, and 
in order to this we resolved, although reluctantly, to part with our 
Tragedies : that is, if we could obtain thirty guineas for each, and 
at less than thirty guineas V/ordsworth will not part with the 
copy-right of his volume of Poems. We shall offer the Tragedies 
to no one, for we have determined to procure the money some 
other way. If you choose the volume of poems, at the price 
mentioned, to be paid at the time specified, i.e. thirty guineas, to 
be paid sometime in the last fortnight of July, you may have them ; 
but remember, my dear fellow ! I write to you now merely as a 
bookseller, and entreat you, in your answer, to consider yourself 
only ; as to us, although money is necessary to our plan, that of 
visiting Germany, yet the plan is not necessary to our happiness ; 
and if it were, Wordsworth could sell his Poems for that sum to some 
one else or we could procure the money without selling the Poems. 
So I entreat you, again and again, in your answer, which must be 
immediate, consider yourself only. 

Wordsworth has been caballed against so long and so loudly^ 
that he has found it impossible to prevail on the tenant of the 
Allfoxden estate, to let him the house, after their first agreement is 
expii-ed, so he must quit it at Midsummer ; whether we shall be 
able to procure him a house and furniture near Stowey, we know 
not, and yet we must : for the hills, and the woods, and the 
streams, and the sea, and the shores, would break forth into 
reproaches against us, if we did not strain every nerve, to keep 
their poet among them. Without joking, and in serious sadness, 
Poole and I cannot endure to think of losing him. 

At all events, come down, Cottle, as soon as you can, but 
before Midsummer, and we will procure a horse easy as thy own 
soul, and we will go on a roam to Linton and Limouth, which, if 
thou comest in May, will be in all their pride of woods and 
waterfalls, not to speak of its august cliffs, and the green ocean, 



420 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

and the vast Valley of Stones, all which live disdainful of the 

seasons, or accept new honours only from the winter's snow. 

At all events come down, and cease not to believe me much 

and affectionately your friend 

S. T. Coleridge. 



CCLIV. 

This humorously naive confession exactly hits off Coleridge's 
peculiar weakness. It suited the indolent temperament of the 
day-dreamer to expound, for hours at a time, his views on philoso- 
phy and culture to spell-hound throngs of fashionable listeners. 
But the world at large had been the gainer if this profoundly 
learned man, this most suggestive of poets, this representative 
of German metaphysics, had talked less and written more. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge to William Godwin. 

At Mr. Lamb's, 36, Chapel Street : 
March 3, 1800. 
Dear Godwin, — The punch, after the wine, made me tipsy 
last night. This I mention, not that my head aches, or that I felt, 
after I quitted you, any unpleasantness or titubancy ; but because 
tipsiness has, and has always, one unpleasant effect — that of mak- 
ing me talk very extravagantly ; and as, when sober, I talk ex- 
travagantly enough for any common tipsiness, it becomes a matter of 
nicety in discrimination to know when I am or am not affected. 
An idea starts up in my head, — away I follow through thick and 
thin, wood and marsh, brake and briar, with all the apparent 
interest of a man who was defending one of his old and long-estab- 
lished principles. Exactly of this kind was the conversation with 
which I quitted you. I do not believe it possible for a human be- 
ing to have a greater horror of the feelings that usually accompany 
such principles as I then supposed, or a deeper conviction of their 
irrationality, than myself ; but the whole thinking of my life will 
not bear me up against the accidental crowd and press of my 
mind, when it is elevated beyond its natural pitch. We shall talk 
wiselier with the ladies on Tuesday. God bless you, and give your 
dear little ones a kiss apiece from me. Yours with affectionate 
esteem, 

S. T. Coleridge. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 421 



CCLV. 

Althouglitlie 'Ettrick Sheplierd' ascertained in due season 
that poetry and literary work were more profitable to him than 
sheep-farming in Scotland, he preferred sport on the moors in 
the middle of August to what he called the ' disadvantage ' of 
indoor enjoyment at that period of the year among learned 
companions. 

James Hogg (the Ettrick Shejjliercl) to Professor John Wilson. 

Mount Benger : August 1829. 
My Dear and Honoured John, — I never thought you had been 
so unconscionable as to desire a sportsman on the 11th or even the 
13th of August to leave Ettrick Forest for the bare scraggy hills 
of Westmoreland ! — Ettrick Eorest, where the black cocks and 
white cocks, brown cocks and grey cocks, ducks, plovers and 
peaseweeps and whilly-whaups are as thick as the flocks that cover 
her mountains, and come to the hills of Westmoreland that can 
nourish nothing better than a castril or stonechat ! To leave the 
great yellow-fin of Yarrow, or the still larger grey-locher for the 
degenerate fry of Trout beck, Esthwaite, or even Wast water ! No, 
no, the request will not do ; it is an unreasonable one, and there- 
fore not unlike yourself, for besides, what would become of Old 
North and Blackwood, and all our friends for game, were I to 
come to Elleray just now ? I know of no home of man where I 
could be so happy within doors with so many lovely and joyous 
faces around me ; but this is not the season for in-door enjoyments; 
they must be reaped on the wastes among the blooming heath, by 
the silver spring, or swathed in the delicious breeze of the wilder- 
ness. Elleray, with all its sweets, could never have been my choice 
for a habitation, and perhaps you are the only Scottish gentleman 
who ever made such a choice, and still persists in maintaining it, 
in spite of every disadvantage. Happy days to you and a safe 
return ! Yours most respectfully, 

James Hogg. 



19* 



422 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CCLVI. 

The first ^ Edintiirgli Eeview' was puWished in 1755, and 
disappeared within twelve months. This letter announces the 
successful launching of the present review, which was projected 
by Sydney Smith in Jeffrey's lodgings. Brougham, Horner, and 
Allen joined in the first consultations. 

Jeffrey, noio in his twenty-ninth year, and hesitating on the 
cross-roads of law and literature, little thought he would excel 
in both — that the industrious advocate would attain eminence as 
a judge ; and that the young reviewer of Southey's ^Thalaba' 
would advance to be the chief and most versatile critic of his 
generation. 

Francis Jeffrey, to his brother, John Jeffrey. 

Edinburgh : July 2, 1803. 

My dear John, — It will be a sad thing if your reformation be tbe 
cause of my falling off; yet it is certain that since you have begun 
to write oftener, my letters have begun to be more irregular. 

I am glad you have got our Review, and that you like it. 
Your partiality to my articles is a singular proof of your judgment. 
In No. 3, I do Gentz, Hayley's Cowper, Sir J. Sinclair, and Thel- 
wall. In No. 4, which is now printing, I have Miss Baillie's Plays, 
Comparative Yiew of Geology, Lady Mary Wortley, and some 
little ones. I do not think you know any of my associates. 
There is the sage Horner however, whom you have seen, and who 
has gone to the English bar with the resolution of being Lord 
Chancellor; Brougham, a great mathematician, who has just pub- 
lished a book upon the ' Colonial Policy of Europe,' which all you 
Americans should read ; Pevd. Sydney Smith, and P. Elmsley, two 
learned Oxonian priests, full of jokes and erudition : my excellent 
little Sanscrit Hamilton, who is also in the hands of Bonaparte at 
Eontainebleau ; Thomas Thomson and John IMurray, two ingenious 
advocates ; and some dozen of occasional contributors, among whom, 
the most illustrious, I think, are young Watt of Birmingham, and 
Davy of the Poyal Institution. We sell 2,500 copies already, 
and hope to do double that in six months, if we are puffed enough. 
I wish you could try if you can repandre us upon your continent, 
and use what interest you can with the literati, or rather with 
the booksellers of New York and Philadelphia. I believe I have 



ENGLISH LETTERS. 423 

not told you that the concern has now become to be of some emolu- 
ment. After the fourth number the publishers are to pay the 
writers no less than ten guineas a-sheet, which is three times what 
was ever paid before for such work, and to allow 50^. a number 
to an editor. I shall have the offer of that first, I believe, and I 
think I shall take it, with the full power of laying it down when- 
ever I think proper. The publication is in the highest degree re- 
spectable as yet, as there are none but gentlemen connected with 
it. If it ever sink into the state of an ordinary l^ookseller's 
journal I have done with it. 

We are all in great horror about the war here, though not half 
so much afraid as we ought to be. For my part I am often in 
absolute despair, and wish I were fairly piked, and done with it. 
It is most clearly and unequivocally a war of our own seeking, and 
an offensive war upon our part, though we have no means of offend- 
ing. The consular proceedings are certainly very outrageous and 
provoking, and, if we had power to humble him I rather think we 
have had provocation enough to do it. But with our means, and in 
the present state and temper of Europe, I own it appears to me like 
insanity. There is but one ground upon which our conduct can be 
j ustified. If we are perfectly certain that France is to go to war with 
us, and will infallibly take some opportunity to do it with greater 
advantage in a year or two, there may be some prudence in being 
beforehand with her, and open the unequal contest in our own way. 
While men are mortal, and the fortunes of nations variable, how- 
ever, it seems ridiculous to talk of absolute certainty for the 
future; and we ensure a present evil, with the magnitude of which 
we are only beginning to be acquainted. In the meantime we must 
all turn out, I fancy, and do our best. There is a corps of riflemen 
raising, in which I shall probably have a company. I hate the 
business of war, and despise the parade of it; but we must submit 
to both for a while. I am happy to observe that there is little of 
that boyish prating about uniforms, and strutting in helmets, that 
distinguished our former arming. We look sulky now, and manful, 
I think. Always, dear John, very affectionately yours. 



i2i ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



COLVII. 

This friendly letter was addressed to the poet Camp'bell shortly 
hefore the poem of ' Gertrude of Wyoming ' was published. 
Jeffrey's elaborate public criticism of the same poet soon fol- 
lowed. Campbell himself was captivated as much by the 
reviewer's tact in discovering ' beauty and blemish ' as he was 

by his early and constant friendship. 

• 

Francis Jeffrey to Thomas Campbell. 

Edinburgh: March 1, 1809. 
I have seen your Gertrude. The sheets were sent to Ali- 
son, and he allowed me, though, very hastily, to peruse them. 
There is great beauty, and great tenderness, and fancy in the work 
■ — and I am sure it will be very popular. The latter part is ex- 
quisitely pathetic, and the whole touched with those soft and 
skyish tints of purity and truth, which fall like enchantments on 
all minds that can make anything of such matters. Many of your 
descriptions come nearer the tone of ' The Castle of Indolence,' than 
any succeeding poetry, and the pathos is much more graceful and 
delicate. . . . But there are faults too — for which you must be 
scolded. In the first place, it is too short — not merely for the de- 
light of the reader — but, in some degree, for the development of 
the story, and for giving full efiect to the fine scenes that are de- 
lineated. It looks almost as if you had cut out large portions of 
it, and filled up the gaps very imperfectly. There is little or 
nothing said, I think, of the early love, and of the childish plays 
of your pair, and nothing certainly of their parting, and the efiects 
of separation on each — though you had a fine subject in his Euro- 
pean tour, seeing everything with the eyes of a lover — a free man, 
and a man of the woods. It ends rather abruptly — not but 
that there is great spirit in the description — but a spirit not quite 
suitable to the soft and soothing tenor of the poem. The most 
dangerous faults, however, are your faidts of diction. There is 
still a good deal of obscurity in many passages — and in others a 
strained and unnatural expression — an appearance of labour and 
hardness ; you have hammered the metal in some places till it has 
lost all its ductility. These are not great faults, but they are 
blemishes ; and as dunces will find them out, noodles will see them 



180O] ENGLISH LETTERS. 425 

when they are pointed to. I wish you had had courage to correct, or 
rather to avoid them, for with you they are faults of over finish- 
ing, and not of negligence. I have another fault to charge you 
with in private, for which I am more angry with you than for all 
the rest. Your timidity, or fastidiousness, or some other knavish 
quality, will not let you give your conceptions glowing, and bold, 
and powerful, as they present themselves ; but you must chasten, 
and refine, and soften them, forsooth, till half their nature and 
grandeur is chiselled away from them. Believe me, my dear C, 
the world will never know how truly you are a great and original 
poet, till you venture to cast before it some of the rough pearls of 
your fancy. Write one or two things without thinking of publica- 
tion, or of what will be thought of them — and let me see them, at 
least, if you will not venture them any further. I am more mis- 
taken in my prognostics than I ever was in my life, if they are not 
twice as tall as any of your full-dressed children. I write all 
this to you in a terrible hurry — but tell me instantly when your 
volume is to be out. 

F. Jeffeey. 



CCLVIII. 

Francis Jeffrey to William Empson. 

Killin : August 2, 1834. 
My dear E., — This is a great disappointment, and, after all, 
why were you so faint-hearted after coming so far % Rain ! Oh 
efieminate cockney, and most credulous brother of a most unwise 
prognosticator of meteoric changes. Though it rained in the Boeotia 
of Yorkshire, must it rain also in the Attica of Argyll ? Why, 
there has not been a drop of rain in the principality of Macallum- 
More for these ten days ; but, on the contrary, such azure skies, 
and calm, coerulean waters, such love and laziness — inspiring heats 
by day, and such starlight rowings and walkings through fragrant 
live blossoms, and dewy birch woods by night; and then such 
glow-worms twinkling from tufts of heath and juniper, such naiads 
sporting on the white quartz pebbles, and meeting your plunges 
into every noon-day pool; and such herrings at breakfast, and 
haggises at dinner, and such pale, pea-green mountains, and a 
genuine Highland sacrament ! The long sermon in Gaelic, preached 



426 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

out of tents to picturesque multitudes in the open air, grouped 
on rocks by the glittering sea, in one of the mountain bays of 
those long withdrawing lochs ! You have no idea what you have 
missed ; and for weather especially, thei-e is no memory of so long 
a tract of calm, dry, hot weather at this season ; and the fragrance 
of the mountain hay, and the continual tinkling of the bright 
waters ! But you are not worthy even of the ideas of these things 
and you shall have no more of them, but go unimproved to youi 
den at Haileybuiy, or your stye at the Temple, and feed upon 
the vapour of your dungeon. When we found you had really 
gone back from your vow, we packed up for Loch Lomond yester- 
day, and came on here, where we shall stay in the good Breadal- 
bane country till Monday, and then return for a farewell peep at 
our naiads, on our way to Ayrshire, and thence back to Craigcrook 
about the 18th. (Write always to Edinburgh.) I sent a letter to 
Napier for you, which he returned two days ago. After that I 
could not tell where to address you. I left instructions at the 
Arrochar post-office for the forwarding of your letters to Rice. 
Only two newspapers had come for you when we came away, and 
these I generously bestowed in my last. And now it is so -hot that 
I cannot write any more, but must go and cool myself in the 
grottos of the rocky Dochart, or float under the deep shades that 
overarch the calm course of the translucent Lochy, or sit on the 
airy summit where the ruins of Finlarig catch the faint fluttering 
of the summer breeze. All Greek and Hebrew to you, only more 
melodious. Poor wretch ! We have been at Finlarig and a,t Auch- 
more ; both very beautiful, but the heat spoils all, as I fear it may 
have our salmon. God bless us, I am dyspeptic and lumbaginous, 
and cannot sleep, and I lay it all on the heat, when I daresay old 
age and bad regime should have their share. Why should not you 
and Malthus come down to our solemnity on the 8th September 1 
After your long services, a fortnight's holiday could not be grudged, 
especially for the purpose of making you better teachers, and get- 
ting solutions to all your difficulties. I hope Mrs. Somerville 
will come. 

I had a glimpse of my beautiful Mrs. Grant before leaving 
Edinburgh, and grudge such a sultana to India. Write to me 
soon. My Charlottes send their love in anger to you. Ever 
yours. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 427 



CCLTX. 

In the recently publlslied volumes of Charles Dickens' Letters 
the editorial comment for the year 1843 informs us that the 
popular novelist ^ was at work upon " Martin Ohuzzlewit " until 
the end of the year, when he also wrote and published the first 
of his Christmas stories — " The Christmas Carol." ' To have 
received from the pen of the brilliant critic, Jeifrey, so genuine 
an assurance of the increasing repute and influence of hia 
writings must have greatly flattered even this spoilt child of the 
public. 

Francis Jeffrey to Charles Lichens . 

Edinburgh : December 26, 1843. 

Blessings on your kind heart, my dear Dickens ! and may it 
always be as light and full as it is kind, and a fountain of kindness 
to all within reach of its beatings ! We are all charmed with your 
Carol, chiefly, I think, for the genuine goodness which breathes all 
through it, and is the true inspiring angel by which its genius has 
been awakened. The whole scene of the Cratchetts is like the 
dream of a beneficent angel in spite of its broad reality, and little 
Tiny Tim, in life and death almost as sweet and as touching as 
Nelly. And then the school-day scene, with that large-hearted 
delicate sister, and her true inheritor, with his gall-lacking liver, 
and milk of human kindness for blood, and yet all so natural, 
and so humbly and serenely happy ! Well, you should be happy 
yourself, for you may be sure you have done more good, and not 
only fastened more kindly feelings, but prompted more positive 
acts of beneficence, by this little publication, than can be traced to 
all the pulpits and confessionals in Christendom since Christmas 
1842. 

And is not this better than caricaturing American knaveries, 
or lavishing your great gifts of fancy and observation on Pecksnifis, 
Dodgers, Bailleys, and Moulds. Nor is this a mere crotchet of 
mine, for nine-tenths of your readers, I am convinced, are of the 
same opinion ; and accordingly, I prophesy that you will sell three 
times as many of this moral and pathetic Carol as of your grotesque 
and fantastical Chuzzlewits. 

I hope you have not fancied that I think less frequently of you, 
or love you less, because I have not lately written to you. Indeed it 



428 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 

is not so; but I have been poorly in health for the last five months, 
and advancing age makes me lazy and perhaps forgetful. But I 
do not forget my benefactors, and I owe too much to you not to 
have you constantly in my thoughts. I scarcely know a single in- 
dividual to whom I am indebted for so much pleasure, and the 
means at least of being made better. I wish you had not made such 
an onslaught on the Americans. Even if it were all merited, it does 
mischief, and no good. Besides you know that there are many ex- 
ceptions ; and if ten righteous might have saved a city once, there 
are surely innocent and amiable men and women, and besides, boys 
and girls enough, in that vast region, to arrest the proscription of a 
nation. I cannot but hope, therefore, that you will relent before 
you have done with them, and contrast your deep shadings with 
some redeeming touches. God bless you. I must not say more 
to-day. With most kind love to Mrs. Dickens, always very 
affectionately, &c. 

Since writing this in the morning, and just as I was going to 
seal it, in comes another copy of the Carol, with a flattering auto- 
graph on the blank page, and an address in your own ' fine Boman 
hand.' I thank you with all my heart, for this proof of your re- 
membrance, and am pleased to think, that while I was so occupied 
about you, you had not been forgetful of me. Heaven bless you, 
and all that are dear to you. Ever yours, &c. 



CCLX. 

Lander said that in Southey's letters alone could his charac- 
ter he read. If this he true, they reveal him as an essentially 
prosaic, worthy person, crammed with knowledge of books, 
estimable in all his social relations, hut singularly dry and un- 
sympathetic. To one or two correspondents, and notably to 
Miss Barker, he unbends and shows the most human side of his 
nature, but his letters generally contain too much information 
to be good as letters. 

Robert Southey to Miss BarJcer. 

Keswick : April 3, 1804. 
Senhora, — Perhaps you may be anxious to hear of our goings 
on, and therefore, having nothing to say, I take up a very short 
and ugly pen to tell you so. In a fortnight's time, by God's good 
will, I may have better occasion to write. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 429 

I have within this last week received a pleasure of the highest 
possible terrestrial nature, the arrival of some Portuguese and 
Spanish books. No monk ever contemplated with more devotion 
a chest of relics piping hot, than I did the happy deal box that 
contained the long-expected treasures. But let us leave these 
books alone, and talk of my manufactory. Did you ever see 
Ellis's * Specimens of the Early English Poets ' ? It is a very 
useful collection, though not to my judgment made with due 
knowledge or taste, — but still a good book, and which has sold 
wondrously well, George Ellis being a parliament man, and of 
fashionable fame. Heber helped him in the business well. He 
ends with the reign of Charles II. Now am I going to begin 
where he ends, and give specimens of all the poets and rhymesters 
from that time to the present, exclusive of the living jockeys; 
whereby I expect to get some money; for, be it known to you in 
due confidence, that though this will really be a pleasant and 
useful book, I have undertaken it purely for the lucre of gain. 
For if this should sell as a sequel and companion to Ellis's book, 
for which I design it, and shall advertise it, the profits will be 
considerable. Some little notice of each author is to be prefixed to 
the pieces, sometimes beiug only a list of his works, sometimes a 
brief biography, if he be at all an odd fish, and sometimes such odd 
things as may flow from the quaintness of my heart. This costs 
me a journey to London, as at least half these gentlemen are not 
included in the common collections of the poets, and must be resur- 
rectionised at Stationers' Hall, where they have long since been 
confined to the spiders. A journey will stir my stumps, and 
perhaps do me good ; yet I do not like it — it disturbs me, and 
puts me out of my way. However, I shall be very glad to see 
Pickman, whom Coleridge calls a sterling man, and with whom I 
shall guest. And then there are half a score whom I regard more 
than acquaintances — Carlisle, Duppa, &c. &c., not to mention all. 
the oddities in my knowledge whom I love to shake hands with 
now and then, and hug myself at the consciousness of knowing 
such an unequalled assortment. Oh, if some Boswell would but 
save me the trouble of recording the unbelievable anecdotes I 
could tell ! Stories which would be worth their weight in gold, 
when gold will be of no use to me. 

Coleridge is gone for Malta, and his departure affects me more 



430 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

than I let be seen. Let what will trouble me, I bear a calm face ; 
and if the Boiling Well could be drawn (which, however it heaves 
and is agitated below, presents a smooth, undisturbed surface), that 
should be my emblem. It is now almost ten years since he and I 
first met, in my rooms at Oxford, which meeting decided the destiny 
of both ; and now when, after so many ups and down, I am, for a 
time, settled under his roof, he is driven abroad in search of health. 
Ill he is, certainly and sorely ill ; yet I believe if his mind was as 
well regulated as mine, the body would be quite as manageable. 
I am perpetually pained and mortified by thinking what he ought 
to be, for mine is an eye of microscopic discernment to the faults 
of my friends ; but the tidings of his death would come upon me 
more like a stroke of lightning than any evil I have ever yet 
endured ; almost it would make me superstitious, for we were two 
ships that left port in company. He has been sitting to Northcote 
for Sir George Beaumont. There is a finely painted, but dismal 
picture of him here, with a companion of Wordsworth. I enjoy 
the thought of your emotion when you will see that portrait of 
Wordsworth. It looks as if he had been a month in the con- 
demned hole, dieted upon bread and water, and debarred the use 
of soap, water, razor, and combs j then taken out of prison, placed 
in a cart, carried to the usual place of execution, and had just 
suffered Jack Ketch to take ofi" his cravat. The best of this good 
joke is, that the Wordsworths are proud of the picture, and that 
his face is the painters ideal of excellence; and how the devil the 
painter has contrived to make a likeness of so well-looking a man 
so ridiculously ugly 2^oozles everybody. 

I am expecting with pleasurable anticipation the beaver's back. 
Farewell. Yours, 

R. SOUTHEY. 

CCLXI. 

In 1794 Eohert Lovell introduced Southey, then a lad of 
twenty, to Joseph Cottle, a wealthy and enlightened bookseller 
of Bristol, who was so delighted with him that he immediately 
printed a volume of his ' Poems ' and his epic of * Joan of 
Arc,' presenting the unknown aspirant with eighty guineas for 
the two copyrights. This generosity opened the career of 
Southey, and fourteen years afterwards, at the height of his 
reputation, he had not forgotten that fact. Cottle, in retiring 
from business, neglected to return the copyrights to Southey, 
and wrote to say he was sorry. This was Southey's reply. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 431 



Robert Southey to Joseph Cottle* 

Wednesdcay evening. Greta Hall : 
April 28, 1808. 

My clear Cottle, — What yoii say of my copy-rights affects mo 
very much. Dear Cottle, set your heart at rest on that subject. 
It ought to be at rest. They were yours; fairly bought, and 
fairly sold. You bought them on the chance of their success, what 
no London bookseller would have done ; and had they not been 
bought, they could not have been published at all. Nay, if you 
had not published 'Joan of Arc,' the poem never would have 
existed, nor should I, in all probability, ever have obtained that 
reputation which is the capital on which I subsist, nor that power 
which enables me to support it. 

But this is not all. Do you suppose, Cottle, that I have for- 
gotten those true and most essential acts of friendship which you 
showed me when I stood most in need of them ? Your house was 
my house when I had no other. The very money with which I 
bought my wedding ring, and paid my marriage fees, was supplied 
by you. It was with your sisters that I left my Edith, during my 
six months' absence ; and for the six months after my return, it 
was from you that I received, week by week, the little on which 
we lived, till I was enabled to live by other means. It is not the 
settling of our cash account that can cancel obligations like these. 
You are in the habit of preserving your letters, and if you were 
not, / would entreat you to preserve this, that it might he seen here- 
after. Sure I am, that there never was a more generous, nor a 
kinder heart than yours, and you will believe me when I add, that 
there does not live that man upon earth, whom I remember with 
more gratitude, and more affection. My heart throbs, and my 
eyes burn with these recollections. Good night, my dear old friend 
and benefactor. 

Egbert Southed. 



432 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



CCLXII. 

Bohert Southey to John RicTcman. 

Keswick : August 17-20, 1809. 

My dear Rickman, — I can wish you nothing ])etter than that 
your life may be as long, your age as hale, and your death as easy 
as your father's. The death of a parent is a more awful sorrow 
than that of a child, but a less painful one : it is in the inevitable 
order and right course of nature that ripe fruit should fall ; it 
seems like one of its mishaps when the green bud is cut off. In 
the outward and visible system of things, nothing is wasted : it 
would therefore be belying the whole system to believe that 
intellect and love, — which are of all things the best, — could perish. 
I have a strong and lively faith in a state of continued conscious* 
ness from this stage of existence, and that we shall recover the 
consciousness of some lower stages through which we may pre- 
viously have past, seems to me not improbable. The supposition 
serves for dreams and systems,— the belief is a possession more 
precious than any other. I love life, and can thoroughly enjoy it ; 
but if to exist were but a lifehold property, I am doubtful whether 
1 should think the lease worth holding. It would be better never 
to have been than ever to cease to be. 

Still I shall hope for your coming. You would at any rate 
have been inconveniently late for the Highlands, for which as near 
Midsummer as possible is the best season. September is the best 
for this country. 

CCLXIII. 

In 1797 Coleridge introduced Lamb to Southey, whose 
mind proved so far more congenial to the great humourist than 
that of any other early literary friend, that his letters imme- 
diately began to take those delightful airs of fantastic whim 
which we identify with the name of Lamb. 

Charles Lamh to Robert Southey. 

1798. 
My tailor has brought me home a new coat lapelled, with a 
velvet collar. He assures me every body wears velvet collars now. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 433 

Some are born fashionable, some achieve fashion, and others, like 
your humble servant, have fashion thrust upon them. The rogue 
has been making inroads hitherto by modest degrees, foisting upon 
me an additional button, recommending gaiters, but to come upon 
me thus in a full tide of luxury, neither becomes him as a tailor or 
as the ninth of a man. My meek gentleman was robbed the other 
day, coming with his wife and family in a one-horse shay from 
Hampstead ; the villains rifled him of four guineas, some shillings 
and half-pence, and a bundle of customers' measures, which they 
swore were bank-notes. They did not shoot him, and when they 
rode off he addrest them with profound gratitude, making a congee : 
' Gentlemen, I wish you good night, and we are very much obliged 
to you that you have not used us ill ! ' And this is the cuckoo 
that has had the audacity to foist upon me ten buttons on a side, 
and a black velvet collar. A cursed ninth of a scoundrel ! 

Yours sincerely, 

C. Lamb. 

CCLXIV. 

There was a little coldness between Coleridge and Lamb in 
1798. Coleridge, with his usual pomposity, had told Lamb 
that he should he happy to instruct liim on all points upon 
which he needed information, and this seems to have ruffled 
Lamb. Accordingly he drew up the following absurd table of 
theological queries and begged to have them expounded to him. 
Coleridge could see no fun in the joke, and called Lamb 'a 
young visionary.' 

Charles Lamb to Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
Theses quaedam Theologicee. 
1st. Whether God loves a lying angel better than a true man? 
2nd. Whether the archangel Uriel could affirm an untruth, and if 

he could, whether he would ? 
3rd. Whether honesty be an angelic virtue, or not rather to be 

reckoned among those qualities which the schoolmen term 

' Yirtutes minus splendidae ? ' 
4th. Whether the higher order of Seraphim illuminati ever sneer ? 
5 th. Whether pure intelligences can love ? 
6th. Whether the Seraphim ardentes do not manifest their virtues, 

by the way of vision and theory ; and whether practice be 

not a sub-celestial and merely human virtue ? 



43i ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 

Tth. Whetlier the vision beatific be anything more or less than a 
perpetual representment, to each individual angel, of his 
own present attainments, and future capabilities, somehow 
in the manner of mortal looking-glasses, reflecting a per- 
petual complacency and self-satisfaction? 
8th and last. Whether an immortal and amenable soul may not 
come to be condemned at last, and the man never suspect it 
beforehand ? 
Learned Sir, my friend, — Presuming on our long habits of 
friendship, and emboldened further by your late liberal permis- 
sion to avail myself of your correspondence, in case I want any 
knowledge, (which I intend to do, when I have no Encyclopedia, 
or Ladies Magazine at hand to refer to, in any matter of science,) 
I now submit to your enquiries the above theological propositions, 
to be by you defended or oppugned, or both, in the schools of Ger- 
many, whither, I am told, you are departing, to the utter dissatis- 
faction of your native Devonshire, and regret of universal 
England ; but to my own individual consolation, if, through the 
channel of your wished return, learned sir, my friend, may be 
transmitted to this our island, from those famous theological wits 
of Leipsic and Gottingen, any rays of illumination, in vain to be 
derived from the homegrowth of our English halls and colleges. 
Finally wishing, learned sir, that you may see Schiller, and swing 
in a wood, (vide poems) and sit upon a tun, and eat fat hams of 
Westphalia, 

I remain 
Your friend and docile pupil, to instruct, 

Charles Lamb. 

CCLXV. 

The Lake Poets, consisting of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and 
Lloyd, with their families, had settled at Keswick in 1800, 
and when in 1801 Lamb published a slender volume of ^Poems' 
that identified him with them in the public mind, they were 
all anxious to attract him also to Cumberland. Lloyd and 
Coleridge invited him in vain, and finally Wordsworth summoned 
him to leave London, with the following result. 

Charles Lamh to William Wordsworth. 

I ought before this to have replied to your very kind invitation 
into Cumberland. With you and your sister I could gang any 



1800] ENGLISH LETTEBS. 435 

where ; but am afraid whether I shall ever be able to afford so 
desperate a journey. Separate from the pleasure of j^our company, 
I don't now care if I never see a mountain in my life. I have 
passed all my days in London, until I have formed as many and 
intense local attachments, as any of you mountaineers can have 
done with dead nature. The lighted shops of the Strand and 
Fleet Street, the innumerable trades, tradesmen, and customers, 
coaches, waggons, playhouses ; all the bustle and wickedness round 
Covent Garden ; the watchmen, drunken scenes, rattles ; life 
awake, if you are awake, at all hours of the night ; the impossi- 
bility of being dull in Fleet Street ; the crowds, the very dirt and 
mud, the sun shining upon houses and pavements, the print-shops, 
the old book-stalls, parsons cheapening books, coffee-houses, steams 
of soups from kitchens, the pantomimes — London itself a panto- 
mime and a masquerade — all these things work themselves into 
my mind, and feed me without a power of satiating me. The 
wonder of these sights impels me into night- walks about her 
crowded streets, and I often shed tears in the motley Strand from 
fulness of joy at so much life. All these emotions must be strange 
to you; so are your rural emotions to me. But consider, what 
must I have been doing all my life, not to have lent great portions 
of my heart with usury to such scenes % 

My attachments are all local, purely local — I have no passion 
(or have had none since I was in love, and then it was the spurious 
engendering of poetry and books) to groves and valleys. The 
rooms where I was born, the furniture which has been before my 
eyes all my life, a book-case which has followed me about like a 
faithful dog (only exceeding him in knowledge,) wherever I have 
moved — old chairs, old tables, streets, squares, where I have 
sunned myself, my old school, — these are my mistresses — have I 
not enough, without your mountains? I do not envy you. I 
should pity you, did I not know that the mind will make friends 
of anything. Your sun, and moon, and skies, and hills, and lakes, 
affect me no more, or scarcely come to me in more venerable cha- 
racters than as a gilded room with tapestry and tapers, where I 
might live with handsome visible objects. I consider the clouds 
above me but as a roof beautifully painted, but unable to satisfy 
the mind ; and, at last, like the pictures of the apartment of a 
connoisseur, unable to afford him any longer a pleasure. So fading 



436 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

upon me, from disuse, have been the beauties of Nature, as they 
have been confinedly called ; so ever fresh, and green and warm are 
all the inventions of men, and assemblies of men in this great city. 
I should certainly have laughed with dear Joanna.* 

GiA^e my kindest love, and my sister's, to D. and yourself. 
And a kiss from me to little Barbara Lewthwaite. Thank you 
for liking my play ! 

C. L. 

CCLXVI. 

To a friend who had been absent nine years in China, Lamb 
addressed this quaint and funereal letter. It is hardly neces- 
sary to remind the reader that not a word of it is true, and that 
some of the worthies here slain and buried survived for more 
than thirty years. 

Charles Lamh to Thomas Manning. 

December 25, 1815. 
Dear old friend and absentee, — This is Christmas-day 1815 
with us ; what it may be with you I don't know, the 1 2th of June 
next year perhaps ; and if it should be the consecrated season with 
you, I don't see how you can keep it. You have no turkeys ; you 
would not desecrate the festival by offering up a withered Chinese 
bantam, instead of the savoury, grand Norfolcian holocaust, that 
smokes all around my nostrils at this moment, from a thousand 
firesides. Then what puddings have you ? Where will you get 
holly to stick in your churches, or churches to stick your dried 
tea-leaves (that must be the substitute) in ? What memorials you 
can have of the holy time, I see not. A chopped missionary or 
two may keep up the thin idea of Lent and the wilderness ; but 
what standing evidence have you of the Nativity 1 — 'tis our rosy- 
cheeked, home-stalled divines, whose faces shine to the tune of 
Christmas ; faces fragrant with the mince-pies of half a century, 
that alone can authenticate the cheerful mystery — I feel, I feel 
myself refreshed with the thought — my zeal is great against the 
unedified heathen. Down with the Pagodas — down with the 
idols — Ching-chong-fo and his foolish priesthood ! Come out of 

1 The allusions at the close of this letter are to Wordsworth's poems of 
Joanna's Eock, and the * Pet Lamb,' and to Lamb's unsuccessful tragedy 
of ' John Woodvil.' 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 437 

Babylon, my friend ! for her time is come, and the child that is 
native, and the Proselyte of her gates, shall kindle and smoke 
together ! And in sober sense, what makes you so long from 
among us, Manning ? You must not expect to see the same Eng- 
land again which you left. 

Empires have been overturned, crowns trodden into dust, the 
face of the western world quite changed : your friends have all got 
old — those you left blooming — myself (who am one of the few that 
remember you) those golden hairs which you recollect my taking 
a pride in, turned to silvery and grey. Mary has been dead and 
buried many years, — she desired to be buried in the silk gown you 
sent her. Hickman, that you remember active and strong, now 
walks out supported by a servant-maid and a stick. ISIartin 
Burney is a very old man. The other day an aged woman knocked 
at my door, and pretended to my acquaintance ; it was long before 
I had the most distant cognition of her ; but at last together we 
made her out to be Louisa, the daughter of Mrs. Topham, formerly 
Mrs. Morton, who had been Mrs. Reynolds, formerly Mrs. Kenney, 
whose first husband was Holcroft, the dramatic writer of the last 
century. St. Paul's Church is a heap of ruins ; the Monument 
isn't half as high as you knew it, divers parts being successively 
taken down which the ravages of time had rendered dangerous ; 
the horse at Charing Cross is gone, no one knows whither, — and 
all this has taken place while you have been settHng whether 
Ho-hing-tong should be spelt with a — or a — . For aught I see 
you had almost as well remain where you are, and not come like a 
Struldbrug into a world where few were born when you went away. 
Scarce here and there one will be able to make out your face ; all 
your opinions will be out of date, your jokes obsolete, your puns 
rejected with fastidiousness as wit of the last age. Your way of 
mathematics has already given way to a new method, which after 
all is I believe the old doctrine of Maclaurin, new vamped up 
with what he borrowed of the negative quantity of fluxions from 
Euler. 

Poor Godwin ! I was passing his tomb the other day in Cripple- 
gate church-yard. There are some verses upon it written by Miss 

, which if I thought good enough I would send you. He was 

one of those who would have hailed your return, not with bois 
terous shouts and clamours, but with the complacent gi-atulations 
20 



438 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700^ 

of a philosopher anxious to promote knowledge as leading to happi- 
ness — but his systems and his theories are ten feet deep in Cripple- 
gate mould. Coleridge is just dead, having lived just long enough 
to close the eyes of Wordsworth, who paid the debt to nature but 
a week or two before — poor Col., but two days before he died, he 
wrote to a bookseller proposing an epic poem on the ' Wanderings 
of Cain ' in twenty-four books. It is said he has left behind him 
more than forty thousand treatises in criticism, metaphysics, and 
divinity, but few of them in a state of completion. They are now 
destined, perhaps, to wrap up spices. You see what mutations the 
busy hand of Time has produced, while you have consumed in 
foolish voluntary exile that time which might have gladdened 
your friends — benefited your country ; but reproaches are useless. 
Gather up the wretched reliques, my friend, as fast as you can, 
and come to your old home. I will rub my eyes and try to recog- 
nise you. We will shake withered hands together, and talk of old 
things — of St. Mary's Church and the barber's opposite, where the 
young students in mathematics used to assemble. Poor Crips, 
that kept it afterwards, set up a fruiterer's shop in Trumpington 
Street, and for aught I know resides there still, for I saw the 
name up in the last journey I took there with my sister just before 
she died. I suppose you heard that I had left the India House, 
and gone into the Fishmongers' Almshouses over the bridge. I 
have a little cabin there, small and homely, but you shall be wel- 
come to it. You like oysters, and to open them yourself; I'll get 
you some if you come in oyster time. Marshall, Godwin's old 
friend, is still alive, and talks of the faces you used to make. 
Come as soon as you can. 

C. Lamb. 



CCLXVII. 

One of the last letters written by Charles Lamb before his 
fatal illness in 1834 was in reply to one enclosing a list of candi- 
dates for a widows' fund society, and requesting his votes. The 
list chanced to he headed by a Mrs. Soiithey. 

Charles Lamh to Mr. Gary. 

Dear Sir, — The unbounded range of munificence presented to 
my choice, staggers me. What can twenty votes do for one hun- 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 439 

dred and two widows % I cast my eyes hopeless among the viduage. 
N.B. Southey might be ashamed of himself to let his aged mother 
stand at the top of the list, with his lOOZ. a year and butt of sack. 
Sometimes I sigh over No. 12, Mrs. Carve-ill, some poor relation 
of mine, no doubt. No. 15 has my wishes, but then she is a 
Welsh one. I have Ruth upon No. 21. I'd tug hard for No. 24. 
No. 25 is an anomaly ; there can be no Mrs. Hog. No. 34 in- 
snares me. No. 73 should not have met so foolish a person. No. 
92 may bob it as she likes, but she catches no cherry of me. So I 
have even hxed at hap-hazard, as you'll see. 

Yours, every third Wednesday, 
C. L. 

CCLXVIII. 

The loss of Lis eldest son and the intolerable vexation caused 
by the republication of his seditious drama of ' Wat Tyler,' had 
driven Southey in 1816 into a condition of melancholy that pre- 
vented him from writing to his friends. Landor, ignorant of the 
causes of his silence, addressed him this eloquent appeal. 

Walter Savage Landor to Robert Southey. 

1817. 
I have written many letters to you since I received one from 
you. Can anything occur that ought to interrupt our friendship ? 
Believe me, Southey — and of all men living I will be the very last 
to deceive or to flatter you — I have never one moment ceased to 
love and revere you as the most amiable and best of mortals, and 
your fame has always been as precious to me as it could ever be to 
yourself. If you believe me capable, as you must, of doing any- 
thing to displease you, tell it me frankly and fully. Should my 
reply be unsatisfactory, it will not be too late nor too soon to shake 
me off from all pretensions to your friendship. Tell it me rather 
"while your resentment is warm than afterwards ; for in the midst 
of resenfcDient the heart is open to generous and tender sentiments ; 
it closes afterwards. I heard with inexpressible grief of your most 
severe and irreparable loss, long indeed ago ; but even- if I had 
been with you at the time, I should have been silent. If your 
feelings are like mine, of all cruelties those are the most intolerable 
tnat come under the name of condolence and consolation. Surely 
to be told that we ought not to grieve is among the worst bitter- 



440 ENGLISH LETTERS. [L700^ 

nesses of grief. The best of fathers and of husbands is not always 
to derive perfect happiness from being so ; and genius and wisdom, 
instead of exempting a man from all human sufferings, leave him 
exposed to all of them, and add many of their own. Whatever 
creature told me that his reason had subdued his feelings, to him 
I should only reply that mine' had subdued my regard for him. 
But occupations and duties fill up the tempestuous vacancy of the 
soul ; afiliction is converted to sorrow, and sorrow to tenderness : 
at last the revolution is completed, and love returns in its pristine 
but incorruptible form. More blessings are still remaining to you 
than to any man living. In that which is the most delightful of 
all literary occupations, at how immense a distance are you from 
every rival or competitor ! In history, what information are you 
capable of giving to those even who are esteemed the most learned ! 
And those who consult your criticisms do not consult them to find, 
as in others, with what feathers the most barbarous ignorance 
tricks out its nakedness, or with what gypsy shuffling and arrant 
slang detected impostures are defended. On this sad occasion I 
have no reluctance to remind you of your eminent gifts. In return 
I ask from you a more perfect knowledge of myself than I yet 
possess. Conscious that I have done nothing very wrong, I 
almost hope that I have done something not quite right, that 
I may never think you have been unjust towards me. 

W. L. 

COLXIX. 

Reference is made on another page to Dr. Samuel Parr's 
great conversational powers, second only to those of Dr. John- 
son. Landor had not made Parr converse in any of the ' Imagi-» 
nary Conversations,' though he intended to dedicate a volume 
to him. Parr was on his death-bed when this letter arrived. 

Walter Savage Landor to Dr. Samuel Parr. 

Florence : February 5, 1825. 
My dear Sir, — It has appeared, and might well do so, an 
extraordinary thing, that I should have omitted your name in my 
* Conversations.' You wiU perceive at the close of this paper, 
that, if I did not venture to deliver your opinions, at least I had 
not forgotten the man by whom mine could have been best 
corrected. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 441 

Had I completed my undertaking I should have prefixed to 
the last volume a dedication to mj venerable friend, Dr. Samuel 
Parr, and it would have been with more propriety inscribed to 
him than any of the former, as containing less of levity and of 
passion, and greatly more, if I had done justice to the interlocutors, 
of argument and of eloquence. My first exercises in these wer© 
under his eye and guidance, corrected by his admonition, and ani- 
mated by his applause. His house, his library, his heart, were 
always open to me ; and among my few friendships, of which 
indeed, partly by fortune, partly by choice, I have certainly had 
fewer than any man, I shall remember his to the last hour of my 
existence with tender gratitude. 

My admiration of some others I have expressed in the few 
words preceding each volume ; my esteem and love of him I have 
expressed in still fewer ; but with such feelings as that man's are 
who has shaken hands with the friends that followed him to the 
shore, and who sees from the vessel one separate from the rest, 
one whom he can never meet again. May you enjoy, my dear Sir, 
all that can be enjoyed of life ! I am heartily sated of it, and have 
abandoned all thoughts of completing my design. The third 
volume will, however, come out in the beginning of March, and I 
hope there are some things in it which will not displease you. 

I request you to present my most respectful compliments to 
Mrs. Parr, and to believe me, dear Sii', yours ever most faithfully, 
W. S. Landor. 

CCLXX. 

We have seen Landor in his best mood of tenderness and 
Spartan dignity, we are now introduced to him during one of 
those paroxysms of vehemence which were so habitual to him. 
The letter refers to some slight misdemeanour on the part of the 
publisher of Lander's ' Imaginary Conversations.' 

Walter Savage Landor to Robert Southey. 

Florence: April 11, 1825. 
Taylor's first villany in making me disappoint the person with 
whom I had agreed for the pictures instigated me to throw my 
fourth volume, in its imperfect state, into the fire, and has cost me 
nine-tenths of my fame as a writer. His next villany will entail 
perhaps a chancery-suit on my children, — for at its commencement 



442 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

I blow my brains out. Mr. Hazlitt, Mr. Leigh Hunt, Lord 
Dillon, Mr. Brown, and some other authors of various kinds, have 
been made acquainted, one from another, with this whole affair, 
and they speak of it as a thing unprecedented. It is well that I 
rewrote the ^ Tiberius and Vipsania ' before Taylor gave me a fresh 
proof of his intolerable roguery. This cures me for ever, if I live, 
of writing what could be published; and I will take good care 
that my son shall not suffer in the same way. Not a line of any 
kind will I leave behind me. My children shall be carefully 
warned against literature. To fence, to swim, to speak French, 
are the most they shall learn. 

W. S. L. 

CCLXXI. 

Very few public entertainers have worked harder than Mr. 
Charles Mathews (the elder) did to sustain a great reputation 
and keep a purse well filled. He seemed to flit about the pro- 
vinces with extraordinary rapidity, and this, too, in the coach- 
ing days. Mathews was a most energetic and constant correspon- 
dent, and seems never to have missed a reasonable opportunity 
of writing to Mrs. Mathews when absent from home on a-series 
of provincial engagements. In this letter he writes of his suc- 
cess at Edinburgh. 

Charles Mathews to Mrs. Mathews. 

Edinburgh: February 9, 1822. 
I know too many people here to study undisturbed ; therefore 
am obliged to hide myself in the private walks, when the weather 
will permit. Yesterday was lovely, and I had a good spell ; to-day 
boisterous and wet. Terry declared that he was blown off the 
pavement into the middle of the street, from the violence of a 
squall, and must have fallen, if he had not made a stiatch at a man 
who returned his hug, like two people on the ice. I have had two 
nights, the first 80i^., for they would not be persuaded that I was 
myself, in consequence of the disturbance Irish Mathews occa- 
sioned here. But believing from ocular demonstration that I was 
I, my second amounted to 132£., which, to appreciate, you must 
be acquainted with circumstances too tedious, &c. When I tell 
you that the boxes will only hold 55i?., you may suppose what it 
was. Sir Walter, the magician of the North, and all his family, 
were there. They huzzaed when he came in, and I never played 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 443 

with such spirit, I was so proud of his presence. Coming out, I 
saw him in the lobby, and very quietly shook his hand. * How d'ye 
do, Sir Walter 1 ' — ' Oh, hoc are ye ? wall, hoo have you been 
entertained % ' (I perceived he did not know me.) — ' Why, Sir, I 
don't think quite so well as the rest of the people.' — ' Why not? I 
have been just delighted. It's quite wonderful hoo the devil he 
gets through it all.' — (Whispering in his ear) : ' I am surprised 
too; but I did it all myself.' Lockhart, Lady Scott, and the chil- 
dren quickly perceived the equivoque, and laughed aloud, which 
drew all eyes upon me : an invitation for to- morrow followed, 
which I accepted joyfully. I doubt if the players in Shakspeare's 
time appreciated his invite as I do an attention from the man who 
in my mind is second only to him. 

Murray has overreached himself — and I continue to oppose. 
Much I thank him for allowing me to stand alone, and to oppose 
without compunction. 

Charles Mathews. 



CCLXXII. 

Daring Mr. Charles Mathews' (the elder) professional visit 
to America in the autumn of 1822, a minister of the Dutch 
Reforraed Church took occasion while preaching a sermon on 
the subject of the yellow-fever, * Pestilence — a Punishment for 
Public Sins,' to utter a violent tirade ao-ainst theatres generally 
and the evil influence of the great English comedian in particu- 
lar, as though Mathews were responsible in the month of 
November for the dreadful scourge which made its first appear- 
ance during the previous July. Just before his return to Eng- 
land Mathews wrote this letter with a view to frighten the parson 
by inferring that he would be adequately and prominently repre- 
sented in his next English ' At Home.' 

Charles Mathews to the Rev. Paschal Strong. 

New York: 1823. 
Sir, — Ingratitude being in my estimation a crime most heinous 
and most hateful, I cannot quit the shores of America without 
expressing my grateful sense of services which you have gra- 
tuitously rendered. 

Other professors in ' that school of Satan, that nursery of hell ! ' 
as you most appropriately style the theatre, have been, ex neces- 
sitate, content to have their merits promulgated through the 



444 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

medium of the public papers ; but mine you have graciously 
vouchsafed to blazon from, the pnlpit. You have, as appears in your 
recently published sermon, declared me to be (what humility tells 
me I only am in your partial and prejudiced estimation) 'an actor 
whom God Almighty sent here as a man better qualified than any 
other in the world to dissipate every serious reflection ! ' 

What man ! what woman ! what child ! could resist the effects 
of such a description, coming from such a quarter 1 particularly as 
you, at the same time, assured the laughter-loving inhabitants of 
this city that the punishment incident to such a ' thii'st after dissi- 
pation' had been already inflicted by 'their late calamity,' the 
pestilence, ' voracious in its thirst of 'prey ! ' and you might have 
added, thirsty in its hunger for drink. No wonder that the 
theatre has since been crowded, the manager enriched, and the most 
sanguine expectations of him whom you have perhaps improperly 
elevated to the rank of the avenging angel so beautifully described 
by Addison, completely realized. 

For each and all of these results accept, reverend sir, my cordial 
and grateful thanks. l^STor deem me too avaricious of your favours, 
if I venture to solicit more. As you have expressly averred, in 
the sermon before me, that ' God burnt the theatre of New York, to 
rebuke the devotees of pleasure there resident,^ permit me, your 
humble avenging angel, to inquire, by whom and for what purpose 
the cathedrals at Rouen and Venice were recently destroyed by 
fire, and in a manner which more especially implicated the hand 
of Providence % But beware, most reverend sir, I conjure you, lest 
your doctrines of special dispensations furnish arguments and arms 
to the scofier and atheist. 

One other request, and I have done. You appear too well 
acquainted with my peculiarities and propensities not to be aware 
that, when I travel abroad, I am always anxious to collect some- 
thing original and funny wherewith to entertain my friends and 
patrons ' at home.' Now, sir, so little do the American people, in 
general, differ from their parent stock whom it is my object to 
amuse, that I have as yet scarcely procured anything in which 
these qualities are united, except your aforesaid sermon ; you will, 
therefore, infinitely oblige me, if you will, on Sunday next, preach 
another on the subject of my angelic attributes ; in which case, 
you may rely on my being a most attentive auditor. I hope to 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 445 

have the opportunity of studying the peculiarities of your style 
and action. The gracefulness and Christian charity, humility and 
universal benevolence, which doubtless beam in your expressive 
countenance, will enable me to produce a picture of prodigious 
effect, of which all who know the original will acknowledge the 
likeness to be Strong ! 

I have sir, the honour to be, most gratefully your obliged, 
angelic, yellow- fever-producing friend, 

C Mathews. 



CCLXXIII. 

To lovers of John Constable's simple and unaffected art — 
and they are legion — these two specimens, gleaned from the 
volume of correspondence prepared by his fellow-academician, 
C. R. Leslie, will be interesting. 

John Constable, R.A., to Mr. Duntliorm. 

London : May 29, 1802. 

My dear Dunthorne, — I hope I have now done with the 
business that brought me to town with Dr. Fisher. It is sufficient 
to say that had I accepted the situation offered it would have been 
a death-blow to all my prospects of perfection in the art I love. 
For these few weeks past, I believe I have thought more seriously 
of my profession than at any other time of my life; of that 
which is the surest way to excellence. I am just returned from a 
visit to Sir George Beaumont's pictures with a deep conviction of 
the truth of Sir Joshua Reynolds' observation, that there is no 
easy way of becoming a good painter. For the last two years I 
have been running after pictures, and seeking the truth at second 
hand. I have not endeavoured to represent nature with the 
same elevation of mind with which I set out, but have rather tried 
to make my performances look like the work of other men. I am 
come to a determination to make no idle visits this summer, nor 
to give up my time to common-place people. 

I shall return to Bergholt, where I shall endeavour to get a 
pure and unaffected manner of representing the scenes that may 
employ me. There is little or nothing in the exhibition worth 
looking up to. There is room enough for a natural painter. The 
great vice of the present day is bravura, an attempt to do something 
20* 



446 ENGLISH LETTEBS. [1700- 

beyond the truth. Fashion always had, and will have, its day ; 
but truth in all things only will last, and can only have just claims 
on posterity. I have reaped considerable benefit from exhibiting ; 
it shews me where I am, and in fact tells me what nothing else 
could. 



CCLXXIV. 

Twenty years before this letter was written, Constable, 
then in his twenty-sixth year, was lectured by West in the fol- 
lowing words : ' Always remember, Sir, that light and shadow 
never stand still. "Whatever object you are painting, keep in 
mind its prevailing character rather than its accidental appear- 
ance. In your skies, for instance, always aim at brightness, 
although there are states of the atmosphere in which the sky 
itself is not bright. I do not mean that you are not to paint 
lowering skies, but even in the darkest effects there should be 
brightness. Your darks should look like the darks of silver, not 
of lead or of slate.' 

John Constable, R.A., to the Rev. J. Fisher. 

Hampstead : October 23, 1821. 
My dear Fisher, — I am most anxious to get into my London 
painting-room, for I do not consider myself at work unless I am 
before a six-foot canvas. I have done a good deal of skying, for 
I am determined to conquer aH difficulties, and that among the 
rest. And now, talking of skies, it is amusing to us to see how 
admirably you fight my battles; you certainly take the best 
possible ground for getting your friend out of a scrape (the 
example of the old masters). That landscape painter who does 
not make his skies a very material part of his composition, neglects 
to avail himself of one of his greatest aids. Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
speaking of the landscapes of Titian, of Salvator, and of Claude, 
says : ' Even their skies seem to sympathize with their subjects.' 
I have often been advised to consider my sky as '■ a white sheet 
thrown behind the objects.' Certainly, if the sky is obtrusive, as 
mine are, it is bad ; but if it is loaded, as mine are not, it is 
worse: it must and always shall with me make an effectual 
part of the composition. It will be difficult to name a class 
of landscape in which the sky is not the key note, the standard 
of scale, and the chief organ of sentiment. You may conceive 
then, what a ' white sheet ' would do for me, impressed as I 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 447 

am with these notions, and they cannot be erroneous. The 
sky is the source of light in nature, and governs every thing ; 
even our common observations on the weather of every day are 
altogether suggested by it. The difficulty of skies in painting 
is very great, both as to composition and execution ; because, with 
all their brilliancy, they ought not to come forward, or, indeed, be 
hardly thought of any more than extreme distances are; but this 
does not apply to phenomena or accidental effects of sky, because 
they always attract particularly. I may say all this to you, though 
you do not want to be told that I know very well what I am about, 
and that my skies have not been neglected, though they have often 
failed in execution, no doubt, from an over-anxiety about them, 
which will alone destroy that easy appearance which nature always 
has in all her movements. 

How much I wish I had been with you on your fishing 
excursion in the New Forest ! What river can it be % But the 
sound of water escaping from mill-dams &c., willows, old rotten 
planks, slimy posts, and brickwork, I love such things. Shake- 
speare could make everything poetical ; he tells us of poor Tom's 
haunts among sheepcotes and mills. 

As long as I do paint, I shall never cease to paint such places.- 
They haA^e always been my delight, and I should indeed have been 
delighted in seeing what you describe, and in your company, ' in 
the company of a man to whom nature does not spread her volume 
in vain.' Still I should paint my own places best ; painting is 
with me but another word for feeling, and I associate ' my care- 
less boyhood ' with all that lies on the banks of the Stour ; those 
scenes made me a painter, and I am grateful ; that is, I had often 
thought of pictures of them before I ever touched a pencil, and 
your picture is the strongest instance of it I can recollect ; but I 
will say no more, for I am a great egotist in whatever relates to 
jDainting. Does not the Cathedral look beautiful among the 
golden fohage ? its solitary grey must sparkle in it. 

Yours ever 

J. C. 



418 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



CCLXXV. 

The famous Dr. Samuel Parr was not tlio only scliolar wLo 
"was taken in by the impudent Shakespeare forg-eries of Samuel 
William Henry Ireland. That Sheridan should have purchased 
such vapid nonsense as ^ Vortigern ' for Drury Lane Theatre, and 
that John Kemhle should have consented to act in it, is scarcely 
less surprising than that the author of the play should have 
assurance enough to string together the deliberate lies w^hich 
make up this letter. Before the year was out Ireland published 
a confession of his guilt. 

Samuel W. H. Ireland to Dr. Samuel Parr. 

Norfolk Street, Strand : February (3, 1796. 
Dear Sir, — When I had last the pleasure of seeing you in 
London, you flattered me with some hojoe of your friendly inter- 
ference relative to a defence of the Shakspeare MSS. The daily 
attacks on them and myself you have no doubt seen ; many of 
them are of the grossest, and most insidious nature : to these 
(following your advice) I have said but little, and believe I must 
continue with perseverance to bear all with meekness and charity. 
Several pamphlets have appeared pro and con ; those against with 
more scurrility than argument. Amongst those in favour, one 
signed Philalethes is worthy notice, it is written by a gentleman 
and a scholar. Great indeed is the mass of papers, books, &c. 
that have come into my hands since I had the pleasure of seeing 
you. The play of Yortigern, and of Henry the Second, part of 
Hamlet, and the whole of Lear, all written in the same hand, and 
signed in many places by himself, between seventy and eighty 
books out of his library, with poetical and very interesting notes, 
all in his own hand, and signed with his name, among them is 
Spenser's Fairy Queen, published in 1590, with his notes and 
an acrostic on the name of Spenser, signed by Shakspeare, besides 
those many legal instruments, signed by him either as the principal 
or as a witness ! ! This treasure the commentators and a host of 
opponents all declare a forgery, although they have never seen a 
line of them, and many of them have been invited for that purpose, 
particularly Dr. Farmer, to whom you very obligingly addressed a 
long letter in my house. He is one of those I am told who, 
without deigning to call to view the papers, disbelieves, and says 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 449 

they must be forgeries. Your neighbour Mr. Greatheed has seen 
and is a firm believer. 

Mr. Erskine, the Lord Chief Baron, and a host of persons in 
and out of the Law, who have seen, have not a shadow of doubt 
on the subject. Burke and Malone are preparing their great guns, 
and I hear to be out in a few days. Steevens is likewise running 
a race with them, to have the first blow at me. With such an 
opposition, I need not say even truth may be injured for a time, 
although it must eventually rise superior as in most cases it has 
been known to do. In support of our discovery, a recent one has 
been made by Mr. Albany AVallis of Norfolk, amongst the deeds 
&c. of the Fetherstonhaugh family (to whom he has been agent 
near forty years) that corroborate as to the signature of Shakspeare 
and various other names on my deeds and papers in every respect. 
This is for us a very strong support indeed, and must weigh 
greatly with those who choose to be convinced. Situated as we 
are, I need not say (although I have many literary friends in town) 
that should you continue, on viewing these treasures, to be as con- 
vinced of their authenticity as when I had the pleasure of seeing 
you here, that youi* pen would prove to me a tower of strength. 
I shall esteem myself honoured by a line from you as soon a3 
convenient, and remain, dear Sir, your obliged and obedient 
servant, 

S. Ieeland. 



CCLXXVI. 

Moore had not made his bargain with the Messrs. Longman 
wLen the following letter was written ; and it so happened that 
Lord Byron's ' Giaour ' did not stand in the way of an offer of 
3,000 guineas for ' Lalla Rookh.' 

Byron derived more popidarity from his Turkish tale than 
Moore did from his Persian nan-ative simply because it was 
treated with greater force and truth to nature. In justice to 
Moore's generous disposition it should be repeated that he lelt 
two-thirds of this money in the hands of his publisher to be 
invested for the benefit of his parents. The reference to Bessy 
(Dyke) is a touching recognition of the claims of an excellent 
wife to the fife-long affection of her husband — a state of blessed- 
ness by no means common among Moore's poetical companions. 



450 ENGLISH LETTERS. [^700-. 

Thomas Moore to Miss Godfrey. 

Mayfield, Ashbourne : May, 1813. 
I was a good deal relieved from my apprehensions about Lady 
Donegal by your letter, for though you mention colds, &c., I was 
afraid, from whatKogers said in his letter, that her old complaint had 
returned with more violence than usual, as he mentioned that she 
v/as obliged to consult Baillie, and I always couple his name with 
something serious and clinical. But indeed, Kogers himself, in 
the next line to this intelligence, mentioned having met her at 
Gloucester House the Saturday preceding; which (unless aqua 
regalis or royal wish-wash was among the doses prescribed by 
Baillie), I did not think looked like very serious indisposition. If 
ivishing you both well and happy, and free from all the ills of this 
life, could in any way bring it about, I should be as good as a 
physician for both your bodies and souls as you could find any- 
where. So you insist upon my taldng my poem to Town with 
me] I will, if I can, you may be sure; but I confess I feel rather 
down-hearted about it. Never was anything more unlucky for me 
than Byron's invasion of this region, which when I entered it, was 
as yet untrodden, and whose charm consisted in the gloss and 
novelty of its features ; but it will now be over-run with clumsy 
adventurers, and when I make my appearance, instead of being a 
leader as I looked to be, I must dwindle into a humble follower — 
a Byronian. This is disheartening, and I sometimes doubt whether 
I shall publish it at all ; though at the same time, if I may trust 
my own judgment, I think I never wrote so well before. But (as 
King Arthur, in Tom Thumb, says) ' Time will tell,' and in the 
mean time, I am leading a life which but for these anxieties of fame, 
and a few ghosts of debt that sometimes haunt me, is as rationally 
happy as any man can ask for. You want to know something of 
our little girls. Barbara is stout and healthy, not at all pretty, 
but very sensible-looking, and is, of course, to be everything that's 
clever. The other little thing was very ill-treated by the nurse 
we left her with in that abominable Cheshire, but she is getting 
much better, and promises to be the prettier of the two. Bessy's 
heart is wrapped up in them, and the only pain they ever give me 
is the thought of the precariousness of such treasures, and the way 
T see that her life depends upon theirs. She is the same affectionate, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 451 

sensible, and unaffected creature as a mother that she is as a wife, 
and devotes every thought and moment to them and me. I pass 
the day in my study or in the fields ; after dinner I read to Bessy 
for a couple of hours, and we are in this way, at present, going 
through Miss Edgeworth's works, and then after tea I go to my 
study again. We are not without the distractions of society, for 
this is a very gay place, and some of the distractions I could dis- 
pense with ; but being far out of the regular road, I am as little 
interrupted as I could possibly expect in so very thick a neighboiu*- 
hood. Thus you have a little panorama of me and mine, and I 
hope you will like it. 

Good-bye. Ever yours, 
T. Moore. 

CCLXXVII. 

In this charming' letter from his cottage retreat in Warwick- 
shire, the Irish Barns, as Byron called the witty and lively 
Hibernian, tells his friend Rogers the progress he is making with 
the ' Peris.' 

Thomas Moore to Samuel Rogers. 

Mayfield : December 2Q, 1815. 
My dear Rogers, — As this is about the time you said you should 
be on your return to London, from your bright course through 
that noble zodiac you've been moving in, I hasten to welcome you 
thither, not alas ! with my hand, as I could wish, — that joy must 
not be for a few months longer, — but with my warmest con- 
gratulations on your safe and sound return from the Continent, 
and hearty thanks for your kind recollections of me — recollec- 
tions, which I never want the outward and visible sign of letter- 
writing to assure me of, however delightful and welcome it 
may be, in addition to Jcnovjing that there's sweet music in the 
instrument, to hear a little of its melody now and then. This 
image will not stand your criticism, but you know its meaning, 
and that's enough — much more indeed than we Irish image- 
makers can in general achieve. My desire to see you for yourself 
alone, is still more whetted by all I hear of the exquisite gleanings 
you have made on your tour. The Donegals say you have seen so 
much, seen everything so well, and described it all so picturesquely, 
that there is nothing like the treat of hearing you talk of your 



452 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

travels — how I long for that treat ! Yon are a happy fellow, my 
clear Rogers, I know no one more nourri des fleurs of life, no one 
who lives so much * apis matinse more ' as yourself. The great 
regret of my future days (and I hope the greatest) will be my loss 
of the opportunity of seeing that glorious gallery, which like those 
* domes of Shadukiam and Amberabad,' that Nourmahal saw in 
the ' gorgeous clouds of the west,' is now dispersed and gone for 
ever. It is a loss that never can be remedied ; but still perhaps 
our sacrifices are among our pleasantest recollections, and I ought 
not to feel sorry that the time and money, which would have pro- 
cured for myself this great gratification, have been employed in 
making other hearts happy, better hearts than mine, and better 
happiness than that would have been. With respect to my Peris, 
thus stands the case, and remember that they are still to remain 
(where Peris best like to be) under the rose. I have nearly finished 
three tales, making, in all, about three thousand five hundred lines, 
but my plan is to \i2iYQfive tales, the stories of all which are ar- 
ranged, and which I am determined to finish before I publish — no 
urgings nor wonderings nor tauntings shall induce me to lift the 
curtain till I have grouped these five subjects in the way I think 
best for variety and efiect. I have already suffered enough by 
premature publication. I have formidable favourites to contend 
with, and must try to make up my deficiencies in dash and vigour 
by a greater degree, if possible, of versatility and polish. Now it 
will take, at the least, six thousand lines to complete this plan, i.e. 
between two and three thousand more than I have yet done. By 
May next I expect to have five thousand finished. This is the 
number for which the Longmans stipulated, and accordingly in 
May I mean to appear in London, and nominalhj deliver the work 
into their hands. It would be then too late (even if all were 
finished) to think of going to press; so that I shall thus enjoy the 
credit with the Literary Quidnuncs of having completed my task 
to2:ether with the advantas^e of the whole summer before me to 
extend it to the length I purpose. Such is the statement of my 
thousands, &c., which I am afraid you will find as puzzling as a 
speech of Mr. Yansittart's ; but it is now near twelve o'clock at 
night, which being an hour later than our cottage rules allow, I 
feel it imjiossible to be luminous any longer — in which tendency 
to eclipse, my candle sympathises most gloomily. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 453 

Your poor friend Psyclie is by no means well. I was in hopeij 
that onr Irish trip would have benefited her ; but her weakness 
and want of appetite continue most distressingly, and our cold 
habitation in the fields has now given her a violent cough, which 
if it does not soon get better, will alarm me exceedingly. I never 
love her so well as when she is ill, which is perhaps the best proof 
how really I love her. How do Byron and my Lady go on ? there 
are strange rumours in the country about them. 

Ever yours, my dear Rogers, 

Thomas Moore. 

CCLXXVIII. 

Acting imder the advice of his friends Moore remained three 
years on the other side of the Channel, pending- the settlement 
of a lawsuit involving a claim for 6,000/. against him for sundry 
defalcations of a deputy whom he had left in charg-e of his 
Government post at Bermuda. The claim was satisfied with a 
cheque for 740/. from Lord Lansdowne, which Moore repaid 
out of the profits of the ' Loves of the Angels ' and his ' Fables 
of the Holy Alliance.' Allusion is made in this letter to the pre- 
cious gift of the ' Byron Memoirs.' They were consigned to the 
flames by Moore on Byron's death in deference to the wishes of 
the poet's sister and executor ; and, indeed, on Moore's judg- 
ment of what he considered due to the memory of his illustrious 
friend. The celebrated biography of Byron was immediately 
undertaken for Messrs. Longman, and the copyright passed into 
the hands of Mr. John Murray. 

Thomas Moore to Samuel Rogers. 

Paris : December 23, 1819. 
My dear Rogers, — There is but little use now in mentioning 
(though it is very true) that I began a letter to you from Eome ; 
the first fragment of which is now before my eyes, and is as follows, 
* One line from Rome is worth at least two of even yours from 
Venice; and it is lucky it should be so, as I have not at this 
moment time for much more.' There I stopped ; and if you had 
ever travelled on the wing as I have done, flying about from morn- 
ing till night, and from sight to sight, you would know how hard 
it is to find time to write, and you would forgive me. Taking for 
gi-anted that you do forgive me, I hasten to write you some very 
valueless lines indeed, as they must be chiefly about myself. I 
found a letter here on my arrival, from the Longmans, telling me 



454 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 

that I must not venture to cross the water (as was my intention, 
for the purpose of reaching Holyi'ood House) till they had con- 
sulted you and some other of my friends with respect to the expe- 
diency of such a step. I have heard nothing more from them on the 
subject, and therefore I suppose I must make up my mind to having 
Mrs. Moore and the little ones over, and remaining here. This 
is disappointing to me in many respects, and in few more than its 
depriving me of all chance of seeing you, my dear Rogers, and of 
comparing notes with you on the subject of the many wonders I 
have witnessed since we parted. Lord John has, I suppose, told 
you of the precious gift Lord Byron made me at Venice — his own 
memoirs, written up to the time of his arrival in Italy. I have 
many things to tell you about him, which at this moment neither 
time nor inclination will let me tell ; when I say ' inclination,' I 
mean that spirits are not equal to the eflfort. I have indeed seldom 
felt much more low and comfortless than since I arrived in Paris ; 
and though if I had you at this moment * a quattr ' occlii, I 
know I should find wherewith to talk whole hours, it is with 
difficulty I have brought myself to write even these few lines. 
Would I were with you ! I have no one here that I care one pin 
for, and begin to feel, for the first time, like a banished man. 
Therefore, pray write to me, and tell me that you forgive my lazi- 
ness, and that you think I may look to our meeting before very 
long. If it w^ere possible to get to Holyrood House, I should infi- 
nitely prefer it. 

Lord John, in a letter I have just received from him, says you 
have not been well ; but I trust, my dear Kogers, you are by this 
time quite yourself again. 

Ever yours most truly 

Thomas Mooke. 

CCLXXIX. 

. Treated by two able and earnest people who understood 
what they were writing- about, the historical, social, religious, 
and literary topics comprised in the correspondence of Lucy 
Aildn and IDr. Cbanning have a special interest of their own. 
Miss Aikin was very apt to disparage the manners, habits, and 
intellectual calibre of her countrywomen, but she could hold a 
brief for them in the hour of need against their American 
cousins. 

It is as well this gifted authoress did not five to witness Us 
costumes cV harlequin of the years 1879-80. 



800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 455 

Miss Lucy Aikin to Dr. Channing. 

Hampstead : August 9, ] 842. 

My dear Friend, — It grieves me to learn that illness has been 
the cause of your long silence ; but it is past, I hope, and if your 
summer be bright and balmy like ours, it will give you strength 
to support the rigours of the coming winter. But O ! that you 
would come to recruit in our milder climate ! We should then 
soon exorcise that strange phantom of a petticoated man which 
your imagination has conjured up during your illness, and some 
demon has whispered you to call an Englishwoman. I am well per- 
suaded that you could have formed no such notion of us when you 
Avere here, although I believe you then saw but little society, and 
that of an inferior kind. 

As to the very delicate subject of comparative beauty, our 
travellers attest that you have many very pretty girls ; so have 
we : and even Miss Sedgwick jjronounces that * the English- 
woman is magnificent from twenty to five-and-forty.' We are 
satisfied ; so let it rest. With respect to our step or stride, as you 
say, I have a little history to give you. Down to five-and-forty or 
fifty years ago, our ladies, tight-laced and ' propped on French 
heels,' had a short, mincing step, pinched figures, pale faces, weak 
nerves, much aflfectation, a delicate helplessness and miserable 
health. Physicians prescribed exercise, but to little purpose. Then 
came that event which is the beginning or end of everything — the 
French Kevolution. The Parisian women, amongst other re- 
straints, salutary or the contrary, emancipated themselves from 
their stays, and kicked off their ^;5ifi7s talons. We followed the 
example, and, by way of improving upon it, learned to march of 
the drill-sergeant, mounted boots, and bid defiance to dirt and foul 
weather. We have now well-developed figures, blooming cheeks, 
active habits, firm nerves, natural and easy manners, a scorn of 
affectation, and vigorous constitutions. If your fair daughters would 
also learn to step out, their bloom would be less transient, and 
fewer would fill untimely gi*aves. I admit, indeed, some unneces- 
sary inelegance in the step of our pedestrian fair ones ; but this 
does not extend to ladies of quality, or real gentlewomen, who take 
the air chiefly in carriages or on horseback. They walk with the 
same quiet grace that pervades all their deportment, and to which 



45G ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

you have seen nothing similar or comparable. When you mention 
our ' stronger gestures/ I know not what you mean. All Europe 
declares that we have no gesture. Madame de Stael ridiculed us 
as mere pieces of still-life ; and of untravelled gentlewomen this is 
certainly true in general. All governesses proscribe it. Where it 
exists it arises from personal character. I have seen it engaging 
when the offspring of a lively imagination and warm feelings, re- 
pulsive when the result of a keen temper or dictatorial assumption. 
Again, your charge of want of delicacy I cannot understand. The 
women of every other European nation charge us with prudery, 
and I really cannot conceive of a human being more unassailable 
by just reproach on this head than a well-conducted Englishwoman. 
We have, indeed, heard some whimsical stories of American dam- 
sels who would not for the world speak of the leg even of a table, 
or the hack even of a chair ; and I do confess that we are not deli- 
cate or indelicate to this point. But if you mean to allude to the 
enormities of Frances Wright, or even to some of the discussions 

of , I can only answer, we blush too. Be pleased to 

consider that you have yet seen in your country none of our ladies 
of high rank, and few of your people, excepting diplomatic charac- 
ters, have had more than very transient glimpses of them here, while 
we have had the heads of your society with us. Now I must 
frankly tell you, in reference to your very unexpected claim for 
your countrywomen of superior refinement, that although I have 
seen several of them whose manners were too quiet and retiring to 
give the least offence, I have neither seen nor heard of any who, 
even in the society of our middle classes, were thought entitled to 
more than this negative commendation — any who have become pro- 
minent without betraying gross ignorance of more than conventional 
good-breeding. The very tone of voice, the accent and the choice 
of phrase, give us the impression of extreme inelegance. Patriot 
and staunch republican as you are, I think you must admit the 
a-priori probability that the metropolis of the British Empire, the 
first city in the world for size, for opulence, for diffusion of the 
comforts, accommodations and luxuries of life, as well as for all 
the appliances of science, literature and taste — the seat of a court 
unexcelled in splendour, and of an aristocracy absolutely unrivalled 
in wealth, in substantial power and dignit}'', and especially in mental 
cultivation of the most solid and most elegant kind — would afford 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 457 

swell a standard of graceful and finished manners as your State 
capitals can have no chance of coming up to. Further, it has been 
most truly observed that in every country it is the mothers who 
give the tone both to morals and manners ; but with you the 
mothers are by your own account the toilers. Oppressed with 
the cares of house and children, they either retire from society into 
the bosom of their family, or leave at least the active and promi- 
nent parts in it to mere girls : and can you suppose that the art and 
science of good breeding, for such it is, will be likely to advance 
towards perfection when all who have attained such proficiency as 
experience can give resign the sway to giddy novices ? "With us it 
is quite different. Young ladies do not come out till eighteen, and 
then their part is a very subordinate one. It is the matron who 
does the honoui^s of her house and supports conversation ; and her 
daughters pay their visits beneath her wing. Under wholesome 
restraint like this, the young best learn self-government. ' Sir,' 
said Dr. Parr, when provoked by the ill-manners of a rich man 
who had been a spoiled child, ' it is discipline that makes the 
scholar, discipline that makes the gentleman, and it is the want of 
discipline that makes you what you are.' One of your young 
women showed her taste and breeding by asking an English lady 
if she had seen ' Victoria : ' and I must mention that Miss Sedg- 
wick has thought proper to describe the first and greatest lady in 
the world as ' a plain little hody ; ' adding, ' ordinary is the word for 
her.' It was no woman luckily, but your Mr. D,, who had the 
superlative conceit and impertinence to express his surprise to a 
friend of mine at finding so much good society in London. Now 
I think I have given you enough for one letter. 

Let me thank you very gratefully for your ' Duty of the Free 
States.' We ought all to be grateful to you as one of the most 
earnest and powerful pleaders for peace between our two countries. 
I trust there is now good hope of the settlement of all our dis- 
putes. But your man-owners may as well give up all hope of our 
lending our hands to the recovery of their chattels : we shall go to 
war sooner, I can tell them. Your piece gave me much new informa- 
tion respecting the obligations of the free states in connection with 
slavery ; they are more onerous than I thought. You must carry 
your point as to the district of Columbia at all risks, and I appre- 
hend you will do so as soon as your people can be brought earn- 



458 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700-- 

estly to vnll it — a state of public feeling which seems to be advanc- 
ing. After onr victory over slave-trade and slavery, no good cause 
is ever to be despaired of, not even although many of its champions 
may show themselves rash, uncharitable, violent. Reason, justice 
and humanity, must condescend to own that they need the service 
of the passions to lead the forlorn hope in their holiest crusades. 

Your lively delineations of the Southerns and the Northerns 
struck me very forcibly. The contrast is just what we should 
draw between English and Irish. Difference of climate may 
in great degree account for this in your case, but it can have no 
part in ouis. We should ascribe it to difference of race, had not 
the original English settlers in Ireland grown into such a likeness 
of the old Celtic stock. Nothing more inscrutable than the causes 
of national character. Climate certainly modifies the original 
type. Thus the picture which you draw of American women in 
your letter bore much resemblance, I thought, to the Creoles of our 
islands. But surely the same character cannot apply to the women 
of both North and South any more than to the men ; for, inde- 
pendently of all other causes, the presence or absence of domestic 
slaves must modify every detail of domestic, and of- course of 
feminine, life. 



CCLXXX. 

Political bias apart, and judging from quite neutral g^round, 
readers of the memoirs and correspondence of the late Viscount 
Palraerston will scarcely fail to remark that his Lordship's man- 
agement of the Foreign Office, especially during the decade 
immediately following the Reform Bill of 1832, partook of the 
omniscience of Sir Francis Walsingham and the resoluteness of 
Protector Cromwell. The despatches of Lord Palmerston to 
Lord Granville and Sir Henry Bulwer are of a piece with Pro- 
tector Cromwell's drafts to Sir William Lockhart. 

Lord Palmerston to Viscount Granville, British Ambassador 
at Paris. 

Foreign Office : January 7, 1831. 
My dear Granville, — In a conversation which I had a few days 
ago with Talleyrand, about the affairs of Belgium, I mentioned to 
him an idea which had occurred to me, as an arrangement which 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 459 

might probably smooth some of our difficulties. The King of the 
Netherlands would wish his son to wear the crown of Belgium ; 
the Belgians want much to have Luxembourg. Could not the 
King give up Luxembourg to his son, on condition of his being 
elected by the Belgians % and might not the Belgians choose the 
Prince of Orange, on condition that he should bring Luxembourg 
with him ? Talleyrand looked very grave, and said he thought his 
Government would not like to see Luxembourg united to Belgium. 
I asked why, inasmuch as it had been so united hitherto, and 
would not be more inconvenient to France when united to Belgium 
alone, than when united to Belgium joined with Holland. He 
said, the fact was that their frontier in that direction is very weak 
and exposed, and Luxembourg runs into an undefended part of 
France. He then said. Would there be no means of making an 
arrangement hy which Luxembourg might he given to France ? I 
confess I felt considerable surprise at a proposition so much at 
variance with all the language and professions which he and his 
Government have been holding. I said that such an arrangement 
appeared to me to be impossible, and that nobody could consent to 
it. I added that England had no selfish objects in view in the 
arrangements of Belgium, but that we wished Belgium to be really 
and substantially independent. That we were desirous of living 
upon good terms with France, but that any territorial acquisitions 
of France such as this which he contemplated would alter the re- 
lations of the two countries, and make it impossible for us to con- 
tinue on good terms. I found since this conversation that he had 
been making similar propositions to Prussia about her Rhenish 
provinces, in the event of the possibility of moving the King of 
Saxony to Belgium and giving Saxony to Prussia. To-day he 
proposed to me that France should get Philippeville and Marien- 
burg, in consideration of France using her influence to procure 
the election of Leopold for Belgium. I do not like all this ; it 
looks as if France was unchanged in her system of encroachment, 
and it diminishes the confidence in her sincerity and good faith 
which her conduct up to this time had inspii-ed. It may not he 
amiss for you to hint, iq^on any fitting occasion, that though we 
are anxious to cultivate the hest undeista^uling vnth France, and 
to he on the terms of the most intimate friendship loith her, yet that 



4C0 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

it is only on tJie sujyposition that she contents herself with the finest 
territory in Europe, and does not mean to open a new chapter of 
encroachment and conquest. 

My dear Granville, 

Yours sincerely, 

Palmerston. 



CCLXXXL 

Lord Palmerston to Sir H. L. Bulioer, Paris. 

Carlton Terrace : September 27, 1840. 
My dear Bulwer, — Notwithstanding the mysterious threatening 
with which Thiers has favoured us, I still hold to my belief that 
the French Government will be too wise and prudent to make 
war ; and various things which come to me from different quarters 
coiifirm me in that belief. Besides, bullies seldom execute the 
threats they deal in; and men of trick and cunning are not 
always men of desperate resolves. But if Thiers should again 
hold to you the language of menace, however indistinctly and 
vaguely shadowed out, pray retort upon him to the full extent of 
what he may say to you, and with that skill of language which I 
know you to be the master of, convey to him in the most friendly 
and unoffensive manner possible, that if France throws down the 
gauntlet we shall not refuse to pick it up ; and that if she begins 
a war, she will to a certainty lose her ships, colonies, and commerce 
before she sees the end of it ; that her army of Algiers will cease 
to give her anxiety, and that Mehemet Ali will just be chucked 
into the Nile. I wish you had hinted at these topics when Thiers 
spoke to you ; I invariably do so when either Guizot or Bourqueney 
begin to swagger, and I observe that it always acts as a sedative. 
I remind them that countries seldom engage in unprovoked war, 
unless they have something to gain by so doing ; but that we 
should very soon have nearly three times the number of ships that 
France could put to sea, and must, therefore, have the command 
of all their interests beyond sea ; and that even if we had not such 
a decided superiority upon our own bottom, Russia ^vould be with 
us, and has a fleet equal to the fleet of France. These considera- 
tions perhaps might weigh more with Louis Philippe than with 
Thiers, but I am inclined to think that they loill weigh with some 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 4G1 

body or other at Paris. However, I may be mistaken, and the 
French may either make war, in spite of their assurances, or 
commit some violent and outrageous act of aggression against the 
Sultan, which the four Powers will be obliged to resent ; in that 
case France must take the consequences, and her Government bear 
the responsibility. 

While Thiers is telling you that this last absurd proposal of 
Mehemet is the last word of INIehemet and of France, Guizot is 
getting conveyed to me through all sorts of out-of-the-way channels, 
that if we would but make the most trifling concession, if we would 
give way tlie very least in the world, the French Government 
would jump at om- proposals, and the whole thing might be settled 
satisfactorily (to France he means, of course). But as to tlie offer 
which has been modestly trumpeted forth as a concession, it 
happens to be just the reverse ; for France has said for some time 
past that she 'would engage that Mehemet should be content with 
Egypt hereditary and Syria for his life; but now by a juggle he 
wants us to give Syria for the life of Ibrahim, which is nothing 
less than an anticipated inheritance of Syria for Ibrahim ; and, 
therefore, something more instead of less than what was talked of 
by France before. Really Thiers must think us most wonderful 
simpletons to be thus bamboozled. As to concessions, the fact is, 
that, when four Powers make a treaty, they intend to execute it ; 
and, as we made our whole extent of possible concession to France 
before the treaty, by offering to let Mehemet keep St. John of 
Acre, there is nothing more left that we can concede. If we go 
further at all, we must let Mehemet have Beyrout and Damascus, 
neither of which it is by any means possible to allow him to 
retain. 

I conclude by the great anxiety that some parties have to 
settle the matter soon, though at our expense, that they look for- 
ward to a speedy settlement of differences at the Bourse at the 
expense of other people ; and that, having made a large sum by 
the fall, they want to double their profits by the rise. Pray let 
me know when the next settling day happens at the French 
Bourse. I should like to know what day it will be, as I foresee 
that it will be a critical period. I hear that Flahault is coming 
over upon a special mission to the Court of Holland; but that will 
not be of any essential use to Thiers. 
21 



462 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Metternicli is just as stout and firm as we ai'e, and Thiers' 
intrigues will fail there also. I must say I never in my life was 
more disgusted with anything than I have been by the conduct of 
certain parties — useless now to name — in all this afiair. 

I hear from persons who have been in Germany that the same 
feeling of indignation that is felt by us against the conduct of the 
French Government is felt by the Germans, and that France would 
find no friends beyond the Rhine. One notion of Thiers seems to 
be that he might attack Austria, and leave the other powers alone. 
Pray undeceive him in this, and make him comprehend that Eng- 
land is not in the habit of deserting her allies ; and that if France 
attacks Austria on account of this treaty, she will have to do \^ith 
England as well as with Austria, and I have not the slightest 
doubt on earth that she would find Prussia and Kussia upon her 
also. It is quite impossible that the severe pressure brought upon 
all interests in France by Thiers should not soon begin to be felt, 
and that loud complaints should not Ibrce him to take his line one 
way or the other. You think he may then cross the Kubicon. I 
still think that he will be unwilling or unable to do so. 

Yours sincerely, 

Palmerston. 



CCLXXXII. 

On February 3, 1813, Leigh Hunt was sentenced to two 
years' imprisonment for an article in the ' Examiner,' in which 
the Prince Regent, who had been spoken of by the ' Morning 
Post' as an Adonis and a Maecenas, was somewhat freely ridi- 
culed. The result of the following letter to the governor of the 
gaol was that the poet was not only allowed to see his friends, 
but to decorate his cell in the most profuse manner ; he was 
visited in the bower he made for himself by nearly all his distin- 
guished literary contemporaries. 

Leigh Hunt to Mr. Ives. 

Surrey Jail : February 5, 1813. 
Mr. Leigh Hunt presents his compliments to Mr. Ives, and 
puts down his wishes upon paper as requested. 

His first and gi-eatest wish, then, is to be allowed to have his 
wife and children living with him in the prison. It is to be ob- 
served, that his is a new case within these walls j and not only so, 



18001 ENGLISH LETTERS, 463 

but that his habits have always been of the most domestic kind, 
that he has not been accustomed to be from home a day long, and 
that he is subject, particularly at night-time, to violent attacks of 
illness, accompanied by palpitations of the heart and other nervous 
affections, which render a companion not only much wanted, but 
sometimes hardly to be dispensed with. His state of health is bad 
at the present moment, as anybody may see; not so bad indeed as 
it has been, and he wishes to make no parade of it ; but quite bad 
enough to make him feel tenfold all the wants of his situation, and 
to render it absolutely necessary that his greatest comforts should 
not all be taken away. If it would take time, however, to con- 
sider this request, his next wish is that his wife and children bo 
allowed to be with him in the day-time. His happiness is wound 
up in them, and he shall say no more on this subject except tlmt a 
total separation in respect to abode would be almost as bad to him 
as tearing his body asunder. 

His third and last request is, that his friends be allowed to 
come up to his room during the daytime ; and if this permission 
be given, he will give his word that it shall not be abused. His 
physician has often declared that society is necessary to his health ; 
but though he has been used to every comfort that domestic and 
social happiness can bestow, he is content with as little as possible, 
and provided his just wish be granted, could make almost any 
sacrifice. 

This is all he has to say on the subject, and all with which he 
should ever ti'ouble anybody. The hope of living in Mr. Ives's 
house he has given up ; many privations, of course, he is prepared 
to endure ; with the other regulations of the prison he has no wish 
to interfere ; and from what little has already been seen of him in 
this place, he believes that every credit will be given him for con- 
ductiag himself in a reasonable and gentlemanly manner; for as 
he is a stubborn enemy of what is wrong, so is he one of the 
quietest and most considerate friends of what is right. He has 
many private friends who would do their utmost for him ; and his 
character, he believes, has procured him some public ones of the 
highest description, who would leave no means untaken for better- 
ing his condition, but he would willingly leave his comforts to 
those about him. To conclude, he is prepared to suffer all ex- 
tremities rather than do himself dishonour ; but it is no dishonour 



461 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

to have tlie feelings of a husband and a father : and till he is dead 
to them and to everything else, he shall not cease exerting himself 
in their behalf. 

CCLXXXIIT. 

The last \'isit paid by Keats before leaving England in Sep- 
tember 1820, was to the house of Leigh Hunt in Kentish Town. 
He died at Kome February 23, 1821, but Hunt, ignorant of his . 
death, wrote the following letter to the friend who tended his 
sick-bed, in the hope that it might solace the dying poet. 

Leigh Hunt to Joseph Severn. 

Vale of Health, Hampstead : March 8, 1821. 
Dear Severn, — You have concluded, of course, that I have sent 
no letters to Rome, because I was aware of the effect they would 
have on Keats's mind ; and this is the principal cause ; for, besides 
what I have been told of his emotions about letters in Italy, I re- 
niem})er his telling me upon one occasion that, in his sick moments, 
he never wished to receive another letter, or ever see another face, 
however friendly. But still I should have written to you, had I not 
been almost at death's door myself. You will imagine' how ill I 
have been, when you hear that I have just begun writing again 
for the ' Examiner ' and ' Indicator,' after an interval of several 
months, during which my flesh wasted from me with sickness and 
melancholy. Judge how often I thought of Keats, and with what 
feelings. Mr. Brown tells me he is comparatively calm now, or 
rather quite so. If he can bear to hear of us, pray tell him, — but 
he knows it already, and can put it into better language than any 
man. I hear that he does not like to be told that he may get 
better ; nor is it to be wondered at, considering his firm persuasion 
that he shall not recover. He can only regard it as a puerile 
thing, and an insinuation that he cannot bear to think he shall 
die. But if his persuasion should happen to be no longer so strong 
upon him, or if he can now put up with such attempts to console 
him, tell him of what I have said a thousand times, and what I still 
(upon my honour, Severn), think always, that I have seen too 
many instances of recovery from apparently desperate cases of con- 
sumption not to be in hope to the very last. If he cannot bear 
this, tell him — tell that great poet and noble-hearted man — that 
we shall all bear his memory in the most precious part of our 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 465 

hearts, and that the world shall bow their heads to it, as our loves 
do. Or if this, again, will trouble his spirit, tell him that we shall 
never cease to remember and love him ; and that the most scepti- 
cal of us has faith enough in the high things that nature puts into 
our heads to think all who are of one accord in mind or heart are 
journeying to one and the same place, and shall unite somewhere 
or other again, face to face, mutually conscious, mutually delighted. 
Tell him he is only before us on the road, as he was in everything 
else ; or whether you tell him the latter or no, tell him the former, 
and add that we shall never forget that he was so, and that we are 
coming after him. The tears are again in my eyes, and I must not 
afford to shed them. The next letter I write shall be more to 
yourself and more refreshing to your spirits, which we are very 
sensible must have been greatly taxed. But whether our friend 
dies or not, it will not be among the least lofty of your recollections 
by-and-by that you helped to soothe the sick- bed of so fine a being. 
God bless you, dear Severn. 

Your sincere Friend, 

Leigh Hunt. 

CCLXXXIV. 

John Wilson, the intimate friend of the Lake poets, and a 
Laldst himself, but better known as ' Christopher North,' has 
returned from a pedestrian tour with his wife in the Western 
Highlands ; and overflowing with health and spirits writes the 
narrative of his adventures in the following jaunty letter to the 
* Ettrick Shepherd.' We see the prolific critic in one of his 
raciest moods, — a mood foreshadowing the essay on ' Anglimania/ 
or the ' Noctes Ambrosianse.' 

John Wilson to James Hogg. 

Edinburgh : September 1815. 
My Dear Hogg, — I am in Edinburgh, and wish to be out of 
it. Mrs. Wilson and I walked 350 miles in the Highlands, be- 
tween the 5th of July and the 26th of August, sojourning in divers 
glens from Sabbath unto Sabbath, fishing, eating, and staring. I 
purpose appearing in Glasgow on Thursday, where I shall stay till 
the Circuit is over. I then go to Elleray, in the chaiacter of a 
Benedictine monk, till the beginning of November. Now pause 
and attend. If you will meet me at Moffat on October 6th, I will 
walk or mail it with you to Elleray, and treat you there with 



iG6 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

fowls and Irish, whisky. Immediately on receipt of this, write a 
letter to me, at Mr. Smith's Bookshop, Hutcheson Street, Glasgow, 
saying positively if you will, or will not do so. If you don't, I 
will lick you, and fish up Douglas Burn before you, next time I 

come to Ettrick. I saw a letter from you to M the other day, 

by which you seem to be alive and well. You are right in not 
making verses when you can catch trout. Francis Jeffrey leaves 
Edinburgh this day for Holland and France. I presume, after 
destroying the King of the Netherlands he intends to annex that 
kingdom to France, and assume the supreme power of the United 
Countries, under the title of Geoffrey the First. You, he will 
make Poet Laureate and Fishmonger, and me admiral of the Mus- 
quito Fleet. 

If you have occasion soon to write to Murray, I pray introduce 
something about ' The City of the Plague,' as I shall probably offer 
him that poem in about a fortnight or sooner. Of course I do not 
wish you to say that the poem is utterly worthless. I think that 
a bold eulogy from you (if administered immediately) would be of 
service to me ; but if you do write about it, do not tell him that I 
have any intention of offering it to him, but you may say, you hear 
I am going to offer it to a London bookseller. We stayed seven 
days at Mrs. Izett's, at Kinnaird, and were most kindly received. 
Mrs. Izett is a great ally of yours, and is a fine creature. I killed 
in the Highlands 170 dozen of trouts. One day 19 dozen and a 
half, another 7 dozen. I, one morning, killed ten trouts that 
weighed nine pounds. In Loch Awe, in three days, I killed 76 
pounds' weight of fish, all with the fly. The Gaels were astonished. 
I shot two roebucks, and had nearly caught a red-deer by the tail. 
/ was within half a mile of it at farthest. The good folks in the 
Highlands are not dirty. They are clean, decent, hospitable, ugly 
people. We domiciliated with many, and found no remains of the 
great plague of fleas, etc, that devastated the country from the 
time of Ossian to the accession of George the Third. We were at 
Loch Katrine, Loch Lomond, Inverary, Dalmally, Loch Etive, Glen 
Etive, Dalness, Appin, Ballachulish, Fort William, Moy, Dal- 
whinny. Loch Ericht (you dog), Loch Rannoch, Glen Lyon, Tay- 
mouth, Blair Athole, Bruar, Perth, Edinburgh. Is not Mrs. 
Wilson immortalised ? 

I know of Cona. It is very creditable to our excellent friend, 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. i67 

but will not sell any more than the ' Isle of Palms,' or * The White 
Doe.' The ' White Doe ' is not in season ; venison is not liked in 
Edinburgh. It wants flavour ; a good Ettrick wether is prefer- 
able. Wordsworth has more of the poetical character than any- 
living writer, but he is not a man of first-rate intellect ; his genius 
oversets him. Southey's ' Roderic ' is not a first-rate work ; the 
remorse of Roderic is that of a Christian devotee, rather than that 
of a dethroned monarch. His battles are ill fought. There is no 
processional march of events in the poem, no tendency to one great 
end, like a river increasing in majesty till it reaches the sea. 
Neither is there national character, Spanish or Moorish. No 
sublime imagery; no profound passion. Southey wrote it, and 
Southey is a man of talent ; but it is his worst poem. 

Scott's ' Field of Waterloo ' I have seen. What a poem ! — 
such bald and nerveless language, mean imagery, commonplace 
sentiments, and clumsy versification ! It is beneath criticism. 
Unless the latter part of the battle be very fine indeed, this poem 
will injure him. 

Wordsworth is dished. Southey is in purgatory ; Scott is 
dying ; and Byron is married. Herbert is frozen to death in 
Scandinavia. Moore has lost his manliness. Coleridge is always 
in a fog. Joanna Baillie is writing a system of cookery. Mont- 
gomery is in a madhouse, or ought to be. Campbell is sick of a con- 
stipation in the bowels. Hogg is herding sheep in Ettrick forest ; 
and Wilson has taken the plague. wretched writers ! Unfortunate 
bards ! What is Bobby Miller's back shop to do this winter ? Alas ! 
alas ! alas ! a wild doe is a noble animal ; write an address to one, 
and it shall be inferior to one I have written — for half a barrel of 
red herrings ! The Highlanders are not a poetical people. They 
are too national ; too proud of their history. They imagine that a 
colleyshangy between the Macgregors and Campbells is a sublime 
event j and they overlook mountains four thousand feet high. If 
Ossian did write the poems attributed to him, or any poems like 
them, he was a dull dog, and deserved never to taste whisky as 
long as he lived. A man who lives for ever among mist and 
mountains, knows better than to be always prosing about them. 
Methinks I feel about objects familiar to infancy and manhood, but 
when we speak of them, it is only upon great occasions, and in situa 
tions of deep passion. Ossian was probably born in a fiat country 



468 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Scott has written good lines in the ' Lord of the Isles,' but he 
has not done justice to the Sound of Mull, which is a glorious strait. 
The Northern Highlanders do not admire Waverley, so I presume 
the South Highlanders despise Guy Mannering. The Westmor- 
land peasants think "Wordsworth a fool. In Borrowdale, Southey 
is not known to exist. I met ten men at Hawick who did not 
think Hogg a poet, and the whole city of Glasgow think me a mad- 
man. So much for the voice of the people being the voice of God. 
I left my snuff-box in your cottage. Take care of it. The Anstru- 
ther bards have advertised their anniversary ; I forget the day. 

I wish Lieutenant Gray of the Marines had been devoured by 
the lion he once carried on board his ship to the Dey of Algiers, or 
that he was kept a perpetual prisoner by the Moors in Barbary. 
Did you hear that Tennant had been taken before the Session for 
an offence against good morals % If you did not, neither did I ! 
Indeed it is, on many accounts, exceedingly improbable. 

Yours truly, 

John Wilson. 



CCLXXXV. 

Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring, 
And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, 
The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair 
Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there. 

Byron wrote the following note to his little poem, whicn 
opened in the words here quoted. 

' Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October 1806 in 
consequence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that 
would have matured a mind which disease and poverty cou]d 
not impair, and which death itself destroyed rather than sub- 
dued. His poems abound in such beauties as might impress 
the reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period was 
allotted to talents which would have dignified the sacred func- 
tions he was destined to assume.' 

Southey, the literary executor of this most amiable and un- 
assuming lad who was free from those little eccentricities so 
commonly yoked to genius, was more impressed with the 
variety and abundance of the MSB. he had to investigate than 
he had been with a previous inspection of poor Ohatterton's 
papers. * Ohatterton,' writes Southey, 'is the only youthful 
poet whom Kirke White does not leave far behind him.' 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 469 



Henry Kirhe White to John Gharlesworth. 

Nottingliam : July Q, 1805. 

Dear Gharlesworth, — I beg you will admire the elegance of 
texture and shape of the sheet on which I have the honour to 
write to you, and beware lest, in drawing your conclusions, you 
conceive that I am turned exciseman ; — for I assure you I write 
altogether in character ; — a poor Cambridge scholar, with a patri- 
mony of a few old books, an ink-horn, and some sundry quires of 
paper, manufactured as the envelopes of pounds of tea, but con- 
verted into repositories of learning and taste. 

The classics are certainly in disrepute. The ladies have no 
more reverence for Greek and Latin, than they have for an old 
peruke, or the ruffles of Queen Anne. I verily believe that they 
would hear Homer's Greek without evidencing one mark of terror 
and awe, even though spouted by an University orator, or a West- 
minster Stentor. tempora ! mores ! the rural elegance of the 
twanging French horn, and the vile squeak of the Italian fiddle 
are more preferred than all the energy and all the sublimity of all 
the Greek and Roman orators, historians, poets, and philosophers 
put together. Now, Sir, as a classic, I cannot bear to have the 
honourable fame of the ancients thus despised and contemned, and 
therefore I have a controversy with all the beaux and belles, 
Frenchmen and Italians. When they tell me that I walk by rule 
and compass, that I balance my body with strict regard to the 
centre of gravity, and that I have more Greek in my pate than 
grace in my limbs, I can bear it all in sullen silence, for you know 
it must be a libel, since I am no mathematician, and therefore can- 
not have learned to walk ill by system. As for grace, I do be- 
lieve, since I read Xenophon, I am become a very elegant man ; 
and in due time shall be able to spout Pindar, dancing in due 
gradation the advancing, retrograde, and medium steps, according 
to the regular progress of the strophe, antistrophe, and epode. 
You and I will be very fashionable men, after the manner of the 
Greeks : we will institute an orchestra for the exercise of the ars 
saltandi, and will recline at our meals on the legitimate Triclinium 
21* 



470 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

of the ancients, only banisli all modern beaux and belles, to whom 
I am a professed and declared enemy. 

So much for flippancy — 
Yale! 

H. K. White. 



CCLXXXVI. 

In a note to a friend written six weeks before the following 
interesting letter, Kirke White complained that the least 
mental effort during the day brought on nervous horrors in the 
evening and a sleepless night. ' The systole and diastole of my 
heart seem to be playing at ball — the stake, my life. I can 
only say the game is not yet decided.' In his letters to his 
mother and brothers he avoided these allusions to the alarming 
state of his health. The following was written soon after his 
twenty-first birthday and six months before his death. 

Henry Kirke WJiite to P. TJiompson. 

Nottingham: April 8, 1806. 

Dear Sir, — I sincerely beg your pardon for my ungrateful dis- 
regard of your polite letter. The intervening period has been so 
much taken up, on the one hand by ill health, and on the other 
by occupations of the most indispensable kind, that I have 
neglected almost all my friends, and you amongst the rest. I 
■am now at Nottingham, a truant from study, and a rejected 
votary at the shrine of Health ; a few days will bring me back to 
the margin of the Cam, and bury me once more in the busy 
routine of college exercises. Before, however, I am again a man 
of bustle and occupation, I snatch a few moments to tell you how 
much I shall be gi-atified by your correspondence, and how greatly 
I think myself flattered by yoiu* esteeming mine worth asking 
for. 

The little sketch of your past occupations and present pursuits 
interested me. Cultivate, with all assiduity, the taste for letters 
which you possess. It will be a source of exquisite gratification 
to you ; and if directed as it ought to be, and I bope as it will be 
directed, it will be more than gratification, (if we understand 
pleasure alone by that word,) since it will combine with it utility 
of the highest kind. If polite letters were merely instrumental 
in cheering the hours of elegant leisure, in affording refined and 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 471 

polislied pleasures, uncontaminated with gross and sensual gratifi- 
cations, they would still be valuable ; but in a degree infinitely 
less than when they are considered as the hand maids of the 
virtues, the correctors as well as the adorners of society. But 
literature has, of late years, been prostituted to all the purposes of 
the bagnio. Poetry, in particular, arrayed in her most bewitching 
colours, has been taught to exercise the arts of the Leno, and to 
charm only that she may destroy. The Muse, who once dipped 
her hardy wing in the chastest dews of Castalia, and spoke nothing 
but what had a tendency to confirm and invigorate the manly 
ardour of a vii-tuous mind, now breathes only the voluptuous 
languishings of the harlot, and, like the brood of Circe, touches 
her charmed cords with a gi-ace, that, while it ra^-ishes the ear, 
deludes and beguiles the sense. I call to witness Mr. Moore, and 
the tribe of imitators which his success has called forth, that my 
statement is true. Lord Strangford has trodden faithfully in the 
steps of his pattern. 

I hope for the credit of poetry, that the good sense of the age 
will scout this insidious school ; and what may we not expect, if 
Moore and Lord Strangford apply themselves to a chaster Muse % 
They are both men of uncommon powers. You may remember the 
reign of Darwinian poetry, and the fopperies of Delia Crusca. To 
these succeeded the school of SimpliciUj, in which "Wordsworth, 
Southey and Coleridge, are so deservedly eminent. I think that 
the new tribe of poets endeavour to combine these two opposite 
sects, and to unite richness of language, and warmth of colouring, 
with simplicity and pathos. They have certainly succeeded ; but 
Moore unhappily wished to be a Catullus, and from him has 
sprung the licentiousness of the new school. Moore's poems and 
his translations will, I think, have more influence on the female 
society of this kingdom than the stage has had in its ivorst 2^eriod, 
the reign of Charles II. Ladies are not ashamed of having the 
delectable Mr. Little on their toilet, which is a pretty good proof 
that his voluptuousness is considered as quite veiled by the senti- 
mental garb in which it is clad. But voluptuousness is not the 
less dangerous for having some slight resemblance of the veil of 
modesty. On the contrary, her fascinations are infinitely more 
powerful in this retii-ing habit than when she boldly protrudes 
lierself on the gazer's eye, and openly solicits his attention. The 



472 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

broad indecency of Wycherly and his contemporaries was not half 
so dangerous as this insinuating and half-covered mock delicacy, 
which makes use of the blush of modesty in order to heighten the 
charms of vice. 

I must conclude somewhat abruptly, by begging you will not 
punish my negligence towards you by retarding the pleasure I 
shall receive from your answer. 

I am 
Yery truly yours 
H. K. White. 

CCLXXXVII. 

The great Scotch painter, although an abundant, was scarcely 
an easy or entertaining correspondent. But his straightforward 
description of his reception at Abbotsford has a charm for us 
which the passage of time can only intensify. It will be ob- 
served that up to this year, 1817, Scott had contrived to conceal, 
even from his own family, the authorship of the Waverley 
Novels. 

Sir David Wilkie to Miss Wilkie. 

Abbotsford : October 30,1817. 
My dear Sister, — Since my arrival here I made a journey up 
the Yarrow with Mr. Scott's friend, Mr. Laidlaw, and saw the 
Rev. Dr. Kussell, who desired most particularly to be remembered 
to my mother. He seemed very happy to see me, and delighted 
to talk over many old stories. On coming down from Yarrow I 
went to meet Mr. and Mrs. Scott, at the Duke of Buccleuch's at 
Bowhill. Mr. Scott introduced me to the Duke and his family, 
and as it was a day on which there was to be a great cattle-show, 
there was a large assemblage of people at the place and an immense 
number invited to dinner. The dinner was given quite in the 
ancient style of Border conviviality. Mr. Scott presided at a 
by-table in the principal room, at which the Ballantynes, Hogg 
the poet, and some others, besides myself, were present. This 
gave occasion to our being toasted as the Table of the Talents, 
which made some merriment. The company sat till two o'clock. 
There was a great variety of songs, and before parting the gentle- 
men were so enthusiastic with music and with claret, that the 
song of Weel may we a' he was sung no less than five times, and 
God save the King about four times in full cry. I never saw such 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 473 

a flow of conviviality and high spirits, and at the same time the 
greatest good-humour. I have been making a little group while , 
here of Mr. Scott, Mrs. Scott, and all the family, with Captain 
Ferguson, and some other characters. They are so pleased with it 
that it has been taken to the Duke of Buccleuch's, when a request 
was made that I would paint a picture of the same kind of the 
Duke ; but as this was going out of my line entirely, I felt it 
necessary to decline it. I have got a good way on with the 
picture : the Misses Scott are dressed as country girls, with pails 
as if they had come from milking : Mr. Scott as if telling a story : 
and in one corner I have put in a great dog of the Highland breed, 
a present to Mr. Scott from the Laird of Giengary. In the back- 
ground the top of the Cowdenknowes, the Tv^eed, and Melrose (as 
seen from a hill close by) are to be introduced. I am not to bring 
the picture to town, as Mr. Scott wishes to show it to his mother, 
but he is to send it to me. I have never been in any place where 
there is so much real good-humour and merriment. There is 
nothing but amusement from morning till night ; and if Mr. Scott 
is really writing ' Rob Roy,' it must be while we are sleeping. He 
is either out planting trees, superintending the masons, or erecting 
fences, the whole of the day. He goes frequently out hunting, 
and this morning there was a whole cavalcade of us out with Mr. 
and Miss Scott, hunting hares. 

The family here are equally in the dark about whether Mr. 
Scott is the author of the Novels. They are quite perplexed about 
it : they hope he is the author, and would be greatly mortified if 
it were to turn out that he was not. He has frequently talked 
about the different characters himself to us, and the young ladies 
express themselves greatly provoked with the sort of unconcern he 
affects towards them. He has denied the Novels, however, to 
various people that I know ; and though the family used to tease 
him at first about them, yet they dare not do it now. 

D. W. 



CCLXXXVIII. 



We are indebted to Mr. F. W. Haydon, the son of Benjamin 
Robert Haydon, for the Life and Letters of his father, which 
were so warmly welcomed about three years ago. They offer 
one of the most striking illustrations in Enaiish literature of a 



474 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

persoual correspondence reflecting-j almost to minuteness, tlie 
details of a chequered life. T\iq protege of Opie and Fuseli, 
the fellow-student of Wilkie, tlie tutor of Landseer, and the 
friend of most of the poets and wits of his generaticm, Haydon, 
as artist, lecturer, critic, and controversialist, lets us into the 
secret of his method and enthusiasm, his friendships and quar- 
rels, his transitory successes and his many disappointments. 

Benjamin Robert Ilaydon to John Keats. 

May 11, 1817. 

My dear Keats, — I have been intending to write to you every 
Vour this week, but have been so interrupted that the postman 
rang his bell every night in vain, and with a sound that made my 
heart quake. I think you did quite right to leave the Isle of 
"Wight if you felt no relief ; and being quite alone, after study 
you can now devote your eight hours a-day with just as much 
seclusion as ever. Do not give way to any forebodings. They 
are nothing more than the over- eager anxieties of a great spirit 
stretched beyond its strength, and then relapsing for a time to 
languid inefficiency. Every man of great views is, at times, thus 
tormented, but begin again where you left off without hesitation 
or fear. Trust in God with all your might, my dear Keats. This 
dependence, with youi' own energy, will give you strength, and 
hope, and comfort. 

I am always in trouble, and wants, and distresses; here I 
found a refuge. From my soul I declare to you I never applied 
for help or for consolation, or for strength, but I found it. I 
always rose up from my loiees with a refreshed fury, an iron- 
clenched firmness, a crystal piety of feeling that sent me streaming 
on with a repulsive power against the troubles of life. 

Never despair while there is this path open to you. By 
habitual exercise you will have habitual intercourse and constant 
companionship ; and at every want turn to the Great Star of your 
hopes with a delightful confidence that will never be disappointed. 
I love you like my own brother. Beware, for God's sake, of the 
delusions and sophistications that are ripping up the talents 
and morality of our friend ! ^ He will go out of the world the 
victim of his own weakness and the dupe of his own self-delusions, 
with the contempt of his enemies and the sorrow of his friends, 

' Eef erence to Leiah Hunt. 



1800] EXGLISH LETTERS. 475 

and tlie cause lie undertook to support injured by his own neglect 
of character. 

I wish jou would come up to town for a day or two that I 
may put your head in my picture. 

I have rubbed in Wordsworth's, and advanced the whole. 
God bless you, my dear Keats ! do not despair ; collect incident, 
study character, read Shakespeare, and trust in Providence, and 
you will do, you must. 

Ever affectionately yours, 

B. B. Haydox. 



CCLXXXTX. 

Benjamin Rohert Haydon to Miss Miiford. 

September, 1823. 

Oh, human nature ! and human criticism ! Did mankind know 
the motives which instigate all criticism on living talent, or A\ithin 
ten years after its existence, how cautious it would be of suffering 
itself to be led by modern critics ? . . . 

Yv-^hen Keats was living, I could not get Hazlitt to admit 
Keats had common talents ! Death seems to cut off all appren 
hensions that our self-love will be wounded by acknowledging 
genius. But let us see, and sift the motives of this sudden change. 

* Blackwood's ' people Hazlitt would murder, morally or physically, 
no matter which, but to murder them he wishes. To suppose 
Keats's death entirely brought on by ' Blackwood's ' attacks is too 
valuable and mortal a blow to be given up. With the waiy 
cunning of a thoroughbred modern review writer, he dwells on this 
touching subject, so likely to be echoed by all who have suffered by 

* Blackwood's ' ^-indictive animosities. 

Xoic, Keats is an immortal; before, he was a pretender! 
iVbzy, his sensitive mind withered under their ' murderous criticisms,' 
when, had Keats been a little more prominent, Hazlitt, as soon as 
any man, would have given him the first stab ! He thus revenges 
his own mortification by pushing forward the sheeted ghost of 
poor fated Keats. 

Hazlitt and his innamorata have now gone to Italy, the land 
of Art, and he has left ' the land of spinning jennies and Sunday- 
schools,' as he says — and, as he forgot to say, the land also of 



476 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Shakespeare and Milton, Bacon and Newton, Hampden and 
Locke. 

In the * Morning Chronicle ' of yesterday is his first letter, full 
of his usual good things, and — bad things ; but still I hope he 
will continue them. Any man who can leave England, and look 
back upon her shore and think only of spinning jennies and of 
nothing else, must be a bastard son. . . . Alas ! what England 
sufiers from her unnatural children ! Disappointed painters, 
disappointed poets, disappointed statesmen, disappointed place- 
hunters, all unite to decry her genius, her worth, her grandeur, 
and her power. 

CCXC. 

Mr. Haydon's estimate of Wordsworth's poetry portrays 
with tolerable exactness the tone of public criticism half a 
century ago, criticism which Professor Shairp has succeeded 
in modifying in some directions and altogether dissipating 
in others. With regard to the second half of this letter it may 
be remembered that Byron never attempted to ' skin ' Keats for 
his ' drivelling idiotism.' He recanted after reading ^ Hyperion,' 
and deplored the early death of Keats as a loss to our litera- 
ture. 

Benjamin Robert Haydon to Miss Mitford. 

[1824.] 
You are unjust, depend upon it, in your estimate of B3T?on's 
poetry, and wrong in your ranking Wordsworth beyond him. There 
are things in Byron's poetry so exquisite, that fifty or five hundred 
years hence they will be read, felt, and adored throughout the 
world. I grant that Wordsworth is very pure and very holy, and 
very orthodox, and occasionally very elevated, highly poetical, and 
oftener insufierably obscure, starched, dowdy, anti-human and 
anti-sympathetic, but he will never be ranked above Byron nor 
classed with Milton, he will not, indeed. He wants the construc- 
tive power, the lucidus or do of the greatest minds, which is as 
much a proof of the highest order as any other quality. I dislike 
his selfish Quakerism ; his affectation of superior virtue ] his utter 
insensibility to the frailties — the beautiful frailties of passion. I 
was once walking with him in Pall Mall ; we darted into Christie's. 
A copy of the * Transfiguration ' was at the head of the room, and 
in the corner a beautiful copy of the ' Cupid and Psyche ' (statues) 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 477 

kissing. Cupid is taking her lovely chin, and turning her pouting 
mouth to meet his while he archly bends his own down, as if say- 
ing, ' Pretty dear ! ' You remember this exquisite group 1 . . . 
Catching sight of the Cupid, as he and I were coming out, Words- 
worth's face reddened, he showed his teeth, and then said in a loud 
voice, ' The Dev-v-v-vils ! ' There's a mind ! Ought not this ex- 
quisite group to have roused his ' Shapes of Beauty,' and have 
softened his heart as much as his old grey-mossed rocks, his 
withered thorn, and his dribbling mountain streams'? I am 
altered about Wordsworth, very much, from finding him a bard too 
elevated to attend to the music of humanity. No, No ! give me 
Byron, with all his spite, hatred, depravity, dandyism, vanity, 
frankness, passion, and idleness, to Wordsworth, with all his heart- 
less communion with woods and grass. 

When he came back from his tour, I breakfasted with him in 
Oxford Street. He read ' Laodamia ' to me, and very finely. He 
had altered, at the suggestion of his wife, Laodamia's fate (but I 
cannot refer to it at this moment), because she had shown such 
weakness as to wish her husband's stay. Mrs. Wordsworth held 
that Laodamia ought to be punished, and punished she was. I 
will refer to it. Here it is — 

She whom a trance of passion thus removed. 
As she departed, not without the crime 
Of lovers, who, in reason's spite have loved. 
Was doomed to wander in a joyless clime 
Apart from happy ghosts, that gather flowers 
Of blissful quiet in Elysian bowers. 

I have it in his own hand. This is difierent from the first 
edition. And as he repeated it with self- approbation of his own 
heroic feelings for banishing a wife because she felt a pang at her 
husband going to hell again, his own wife sat crouched by the fire- 
place and chanted every line to the echo, apparently congTatulating 
herself at being above the mortal frailty of loving her William. 

You should make allowance for Byi-on's not liking Keats. 
He could not. Keats's poetry was an immortal stretch beyond the 
mortal intensity of his own. An intense egotism, as it were, was 
the leading exciter of Byron's genius. He could feel nothing for 
fauns or satyrs, or gods, or characters past, unless the association 



478 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

of them were excited by some positive natural scene wliere they 
had actually died, written, or fought. All his poetry was the re- 
sult of a deep feeling roused by what passed before his eyes. 
Keats was a stretch beyond this. Byron could not enter into it any 
more than he could Shakespeare. He was too frank to conceal his 
thoughts. If he really admired Keats he would have said so (I am 
afraid I am as obscure here as Wordsworth). So, in his contro- 
versy with Bowles, Byron really thought Pope the greater poet. 
He pretended that a man who versified the actual vices or follies 
was a greater, and more moral poet than he who invented a plot, 
invented characters which by their action on each other produced a 
catastrophe from which a moral was inferred. This at once 
showed the reach of his genius. 



CCXOI. 

This entertain ing narrative is inserted for the especial con- 
sideration and guidance of dramatic critics. 

Benjamin Robert Haydon to Miss Mitford. 

August 18, 1826. 
How do you find yourself 1 I heard you were poorly. What 

are you about? I was happy to hear of 's safe arrival again, 

and I shall be most happy to see him, though tell him he will find 
no more ' Solomons ' towering up as a background to our conver- 
sations. Nothing but genteel-sized drawing-room pocket-history — 
Alexander in a nutshell ; Bucephalus no bigger than a Shetland 
pony, and my little girl's doll a giantess to my Olympias. The 
other night I paid my butcher ; one of the miracles of these times, 
you will say. Let me tell you I have all my life been seeking for 
a butcher whose respect for genius predominated over his love of 
gain. I could not make out, before I dealt with this man, his ex- 
cessive desire that I should be his customer ; his sly hints as I 
passed his shop that he had ' a bit of South Down, very fine ; a 
sweetbread, perfection ; and a calf's foot that was all jelly without 
bone ! ' The other day he called, and I had him sent up into the 
painting-room. I found him in great admiration of ' Alexander.' 
' Quite alive. Sir ! ' 'I am glad you think so,' said I. ' Yes, 
Sir, but, as I have said often to my sister, you could not have 
painted that picture. Sir, if you had not eat my meat. Sir 1 ' 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 479 

* Very true/ Mr. Sowerby. ' Ah ! Sir, I have a fancy for genus, 
Sir ! ' ' Have you, Mr. Sowerby % ' ' Yes, Sir ; Mrs. Siddons, Sir, 
has eat my meat. Sir ; never was such a unomanfor cliops, Sir ! ' — 
and he drew up his beefy, shiny face, clean shaved, with a clean 
blue cravat under his chin, a clean jacket, a clean apron, and a 
pair of hands that would pin an ox to the earth if he was obstre- 
perous — ' Ah ! Sir, she was a wonderful crayture ! ' ' She was, 
]Mr. Sowerby.' * Ah, Sir, when she used to act that there char- 
acter, you see (but Lord, such a head ! as I say to my sister) — that 
there woman. Sir, that murders a king between 'em ! ' ' Oh ! 
Lady Macbeth.' * Ah, Sir, that's it — Lady Macbeth — I used to get 
up with the butler behind her carriage when she acted, and, as I 
used to see her looking quite wild, and all the people quite fright- 
ened. Ah, ha ! my lady, says I, if it wasn't for my meat, though, 
you woiildn't be able to do that ! ' ' Mr. Sowerby, you seem to 
be a man of feeling. Will jou take a glass of wine 1 ' After a bow 
or two, down he sat, and by degTces his heart opened. ' You see, 
Sir, I have fed Mrs. Siddons, Sii* ; John Kemble, Sir ; Charles 
Kemble, Sir ; Stephen Kemble, Sir ; and Madame Catalani, Sir ; 
Morland the painter, and, I beg your pardon, Sir, and you, Sir.' 

* Mr. Sowerby, you do me honour.' * Madame Catalani, Sir, was 
a wonderful woman for sweetbreads ; but the Kemble family, Sir, 
the gentlemen, Sii', rump-steaks and kidneys in general was their 
taste ; but Mrs. Siddons, Sir, she liked chops. Sir, as much as you 
do. Sir,' &c. &c. I soon perceived that the man's ambition was 
to feed genius. I shall recommend you to him j but is he not a 
capital fellow 1 But a little acting with his remarks would make 
you roar with laughter. Think of Lady Macbeth eating chops ! 
Is this not a peep behind the curtain 1 I remember "Wilkie saying 
that at a public dinner he was looking out for some celebrated man, 
when at last he caught a glimpse for the first time of a man whose 
books he had read with care for years, picking the leg of a roa.st goose, 
perfectly abstracted ! Never will I bring up my boys to any pro- 
fession that is not a matter of necessary want to the world. Paint- 
ing, unless considered as it ought to be, is a mere matter of orna- 
ment and luxury. It is not yet taken up as it should be in a 
wealthy country like England, and all those who devote themselves 
to the higher branches of Art must sufier the penalty, as I have 
done, and am doing. So I was told, and to no purpose. I opposed 



480 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

my father, my mother, and my friends, though I am duly grati- 
fied by my fame in the obscuref>t corners. Last week a book-stall 
keeper showed me one of my own books at his stall, and, by way 
of recommending it, pointed out a sketch of my own on the fly- 
leaf, * Which,* said he, ' I suppuse is by Haydon himself. Ah ! 
Sir, he was badly used — a disgrace to our great men.' * But he was 
imprudent,' said I. ' Imprudent ! ' said he. * Yes, of course; he de- 
pended on their taste and generosity too much.' ' Have you any 
more of his books 1 ' said I. ' Oh ! I had a great many ; but I have 
sold them all. Sir, but this, and another that I will never part 
with.' 



COXCII. 

Benjamin Robert Haydon to William Wordsworth. 

London : October 16, 1842. 
In the words of our dear departed friend, Charles Lamb, 'You 
good-for-nothing old Lake-poet,' what has become of you? Do 
you remember his saying that at my table in 1819, with ' Jerusa- 
lem' towering behind us in the painting-room, and Keats and 
your friend Monkhouse of the party 1 Do you remember Lamb 
voting me absent, and then making a speech descanting on my ex- 
cellent port, and proposing a vote of thanks ? Do you remember 
his then voting me present ? — I had never left my chair — and in- 
forming me of what had been done during my retirement, and 
hoping I was duly sensible of the honour ? Do you remember the 
Commissioner (of Stamps and Taxes) who asked you if you did not 
think Milton a great genius, and Lamb getting up and asking 
leave with a candle to examine his phrenological development? 
Do you remember poor dear Lamb, whenever the Commissioner 
was equally profound, saying : ' My son John went to bed with his 
breeches on,' to the dismay of the learned man ? Do you remember 
you and I and Monkhouse getting Lamb out of the room by force, 
and putting on his great coat, he reiterating his earnest desire to 
examine the Commissioner's skull? And don't you remember 
Keats proposing 'Confusion to the memory of Newton,' and upon 
your insisting upon an explanation before you drank it, his say- 
ing : ' Because he destroyed the poetry of the rainbow by reducing 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 481 

it to a prism.* Ah ! my dear old friend, you and I shall never see 
such days again ! The peaches are not so big now as they were in 
our days. Many were the immortal dinners which took place in 
that painting-room, where the food was simple, the wine good, and 
the poetry ' first rate.' Wordsworth, Walter Scott, Charles Lamb, 
Hazlitt, David Wilkie, Leigh Hunt, Talfourd, Keats, &c., &c., 
attended my summons, and honoured my table. 

My best regards to Mrs. and Miss Wordsworth, in which my 
wife and daughter join. 

Ever yours, 
B. E,. Haydon. 

CCXOIIL 

The letters of De Quincey display his marvellous style in its 
most characteristic moods. He doffed his singiug robes in 
addressing those dear to him, and aimed rather at securins: 
sympathy than admiration. For sympathy, indeed, his tortured 
spirit is seen visibly pining through all the seventy-five years of 
his suffering existence, and to this is due, no doubt, that occa- 
sional excess of emphasis which has brought on his writing the 
charge of insincerity. 

Thomas De Quincey to Jessie Miller. 

Saturday morning : May 26, 1837. 
My dear Miss Jessie. — In some beautiful verses where the 
writer has occasion to speak of festivals, household or national, 
that revolve annually, I recollect at this moment from his descrip 
tion one line to this effect — 

Kemembered half the year and hoped the rest. 

Thus Christmas, I suppose, is a subject ior memory until Midsummer, 
after which it becomes a subject for Iwpe, because the mind ceases 
to haunt the image of the past festival in a dawning anticipation 
of another that is daily drawing nearer. ' Well,' I hear you say, 
* a very pretty sentimental opening for a note addressed to a lady ; 
but what is the moral of it ] ' 

The moral, my dear Miss Jessie, is this — that I, soul-sick of 
endless writing, look back continually with sorrowful remem- 
brances to the happy interval which I spent under your roof; and 
next after that, I regret those insulated evenings (scattered here 
and there) which, with a troubled pleasure — pleasure anxious ^nd 



482 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

1)0 ding — I have passed beneath the soft splendours of your lamps 
since I was obliged to quit the quiet haven of your house. Sor- 
rowful, I say, these remembrances are, and must be by contrast 
with my present gloomy solitude ; and if they ever cease to be 
sorrowful, it is when some new evening to be spent underneath 
the same lamps comes within view. That which is remembered 
only suddenly puts on the blossoming of liope, and wears the vernal 
dress of a happiness to come instead of the sad autumnal dress of 
happiness that has vanished. 

Is this sentimental ? Be it so ; but then also it is intensely 
true ; and sentimentality cannot avail to vitiate truth ; on the 
contrary, truth avails to dignify and exalt the sentimental. But 
why breathe forth these feelings, sentimental or not, precisely on 
this vulgar Saturday 1 (for Saturday is a day radically vulgar to 
my mind, incurably sacred to the genius of marketing, and hostile 
to the sentimental in any shape). * Why ? ' you persist in asking. 
Simply because, if this is Saturday, it happens that to-morrow is 
Sunday ; and on a Sunday night only, if even then, I can now 
approach you without danger. And what I fear is — that you, so 
strict in youi* religious observances, will be dedicating to some 
evening lecture, or charity sermon, or missionary meeting, that 
time which might be spant in Duncan Street, and perhaps — pardon 
me for saying so — more profitably. ' How so ? ' Why because, 
by attending the missionary meeting, for example, you will, after 
all, scarcely contribute the 7th, or even the 70th, share to the 
conversion of some New Zealander or feather-cinctiu-ed prince of 
Owhyee. Whereas now, on the other hand, by vouchsafing your 
presence to Duncan Street, you will give — and not to an un- 
baptised infidel, who can never thank you, but to a son of the 
Cross, who will thank you from the very centre of his heart — a 
happiness like that I spoke of as belonging to recurring festivals, 
furnishing a subject for memory through one half of the succeeding 
interval, and for hope through the other. 

Florence was with me yesterday morning, and again through- 
out the evening; and, by the way, dressed in your present. 
Perhaps she may see you before I do, and may tell you that I 
have been for some time occupied at intervals in writing some 
memorial 'Lines for a Cenotaph to Major Miller of the Horse 
Guards Blue,' and towards which I want some information from 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 483 

you. The lines are about thirty-six in number ; too many, you 
will say, for an epitaph. Yes, if they were meant for the real 
place of burial ; but these, for the very purpose of evading that 
restriction, are designed for a cenotaph, to which situation a more 
unlimited privilege in that respect is usually conceded. 



COXCIV. 

De Quincey declared, in writing to an old schoolfellow in 
1847, that he had had ' no dinner since parting with him in the 
eighteenth centm'v.' It is now believed that he siiflered all his 
life from the terrible disorder known as gastrodjnia, a nervous 
irritation and constant gnawing at the coats of the stomach. 
To relieve this, a happy instinct dictated to him the use of 
opium, without which his constitution must early have given 
way to that exhaustion and famishing of which he speaks. So, 
in the case of this illustrious person, the adage was curiously 
confirmed, that one man's meat is another man's poison. 

Thomas De Quincey to his daughter, Margaret Craig. 

Thursda}^, June 10, 1847. 
My dear M., — I am rather disturbed that neither M. nor F. 
nor E. has found a moment for writing to me. Yet perhaps it was 
not easy. For I know very seriously, and have often remarked, 
how difficult it is to find a spare moment for some things in. the 
very longest day, which lasts you know twenty-four hours; 
though, by the way, it strikes one as odd that the shortest lasts 
quite as many. I have been suffering greatly myself for ten days, 
the cause being, in part, some outrageous heat that the fussy atmo- 
sphere put itself into about the beginning of this month — but 
what for, nobody can understand. Heat always untunes the 
harp of my nervous system ; and oh heavens ! how electric it is ! 
But, after all, what makes me so susceptible of such undulations 
in this capricious air, and compels me to sympathise with all 
the uproars and miffs, towering passions or gloomy sulks, of the 
atmosphere, is the old eternal ground, viz. : that I am famished. 
Oh, what ages it is since I dined ! On what great day of jubilee 
is it that Fate hides, under the thickest of table-cloths, a dinner 
for me ? Yet it is a certain, undeniable truth, which this personal 
famine has revealed to me, that most people on this terraqueous 
globe eat too much. Which it is, and nothing else, that makes 



484 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

thein stupid, as also nnpliilosophic. To be a great, pMlosopher, it 
is absolutely necessary to be famished. My intellect is far too 
electric in its speed, and its growth of flying armies of thoughts 
eternally new. I could spare enough to fit out a nation. This 
secret lies — not, observe, in my hair; cutting off that does no 
harm : it lies in my want of dinner, as also of breakfast and 
supper. Being famished, I shall show this world of ours in the 
next five years something that it never saw before. But if I had 
a regular dinner, I should sink into the general stupidity of my 
beloved human brethren. 

By the way, speaking of gluttony as a foible of our interesting 
human race, I am reminded of another little foible, which they 
have rather distressingly, viz., a fancy for being horribly dirty. If 
I had happened to forget this fact, it would lately have been 
recalled to my remembrance by ]Mi-s. Butler, formerly Fanny 
Kemble (but I dare say you know her in neither form — neither as 
chrysalis nor butterfly). She, in her book on Italy, &c. (not too 
good, I fear), makes this ' observe ' in which I heartily agree — 
namely, that this sublunary world has the misfortune to be very 
dirty, with the exception of some people in England, but with no 
exception at all for any other island or continent. Allowing for 
the ' some ' in England, all the rest of the clean people, you per- 
ceive clearly, must be out at sea. For myself, I did not need 
Mrs. Butler's authority on this matter. One fact of my daily 
experience renews it most impertinently, and will not sufler me to 
forget it. As the slave said every morning to Philip of Macedon, 
* Philip, begging your honour's pardon, you are mortal! so does 
tliis infamous fact say to me truly as dawn revolves, ' Tom, take 
it as you like, your race is dir'ty.' The fact I speak of is this — 
that I cannot accomplish my diurnal ablutions in fewer minutes 
than sixty, at the least, seventy-five at the most. Now, having an 
accurate measure of human patience, as that quality exists in most 
people, well I know that it would never stand this. I allow that, 
if people are not plagued with washing their hair, or not at the 
same time, much less time may suffice, yet hardly less than thirty 
minutes I think. 

Professor Wilson tells on this subject a story of a Frenchman 
which pleases me by its naivete — that is, you know, by its uncon- 
scious ingenuousness. He was illustrating the inconsistencies of 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 485 

man, and lie went on thus — ' Oiir faces, for instance, our hands — 
why, bless me ! we wash them every day : our feet, on the other 
hand — never ! ' And echo answered — ' never. ^ 



ccxcv. 

Worn with fever and wearied at last with that brilliant 
series of adventures in Greece and Turkey of which the public 
was soon to hear so much in prose and verse, Byron started 
homeward from Malta on June 3, 1811. This, the last of his 
letters on the voyage, closes the first epoch of his romantic 
career. 

Lord Byron to Henry Drury. 

Volage frigate, off Ushant : July 17, 1811. 

My dear Drury, — After two years' absence (on the 2nd) and 
Lome odd days, I am approaching your country. The day of our 
arrival you will see by the outside date of my letter. At present, 
we are becalmed comfortably, close to Brest Harbour ; — I have 
never been so near it since I left Duck Puddle. We left Malta 
thirty-four days ago, and have had a tedious passage of it. You 
will either see or hear from or of me, soon after the receipt of this, 
as I pass through town to repair my irreparable affairs ; and thence 
I want to go to Notts, and raise rents, and to Lanes, and sell 
collieries, and back to London and pay debts, — for it seems I shall 
neither have coals nor comfort till I go down to Kochdale in person. 

I have brought home some marbles for Hobhouse ; — for myself, 
four ancient Athenian skulls, dug out of sarcophagi — a phial of 
Attic hemlock — four live tortoises — a greyhound (died on the 
passage) — two live Greek servants, one an Athenian, t'other a 
Yaniote, who can speak nothing but Bomaic and Italian — and 
myself, as Moses in the Yicar of Wakefield says, slily, and I 
may say it too, for I have as little cause to boast of my expedition 
as he had of his to the fair. 

I wrote to you from the Cyanean Bocks to tell you I had swam 
from Sestos to Abydos — have you received my letter? Hodgson, 
I suppose, is four deep by this time. What would he have given 
to have seen, like me, the real Parnassus, where I robbed the 
Bishop of Chrissse of a book of geography ! — but this I only call 
plagiarism, as it was done within an hour's ride of Delphi. 
22 Yours, 

Byron. 



486 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



COXCVI. 

In 'Englisli Bard? and Scotch Reviewers,' wbicli appeared 
in March, 1809, the gay youno: satirist spared none of his poeti- 
cal contemporaries, and consequently the next five or six years 
had to witness the spectacle of the proudest of poets aslduj^ 
pardon in every direction. It is only fair to say that be did it 
with a very good grace, and this was his apology to the hard 
who reigned before him. 

Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott. 

St. James's Street : July 6, 1812. 
Sir, — I have just been honoured with your letter. I feel 
sorry that you should have thought it worth while to notice the 

* evil works of my nonage,' as the thing is suppressed volimtarilij, 
and your explanation is too kind not to give me pain. The Satire 
was written when I was very young and very angry, and fully 
bent on displaying my wrath and my wit, and now I am haunted 
by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. I cannot sufficiently 
thank you for your praise; and now, waiving myself, let me talk 
to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to 
him at a ball ; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from 
royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and 
your immortalities : he preferred you to every bard past and pre- 
sent, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a 
difficult question. I answered, I thought the * Lay.' He said his 
own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told 
him that I thought you more particularly the poet of Princes, as 
they never appeared more fascinating than in * Marmion ' and the 

* Lady of the Lake.' He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on 
the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. He 
spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well 
acquainted with both ; so that (with the exception of the Turks 
and your humble servant) you were in very good company. I 
defy Murray to have exaggerated his Koyal Highness's opinion of 
your powers, nor can I pretend to enumerate all he said on the 
subject ; but it may give you pleasure to hear that it was conveyed 
in language which would only suffer by my attempting to tran- 
scribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 487 

idea of his abilities and accomplishments, which I had hitherto 
considered as confined to manners, certainly superior to those of 
any living gentleman. 

The interview was accidental. I never went to the levee ; for 
having seen the courts of IMussulman and Cathohc sovereigns, my 
curiosity was sufficiently allayed ; and my politics being as perverse 
as my rhymes, I had, in fact, no busiaess there. To be thus 
praised by your Sovereign must be gratifying to you ; and if that 
gratification is not alloyed by the communication being made 
through me, the bearer of it will consider himself very fortunately 
and sincerely, 

Your obliged and obedient servant, 

Byron. 

P.S. — Excuse this scrawl, scratched in a great hurry, and just 
after a journey. 

ccxcvn. 

Byron, who affected indiiference to literature, was in fact 
one of the typical men of letters of his time. Not even Southey 
shows more minute consideration of technical matters than the 
noble writer whose unique correspondence with his publisher 
has happily been preserved to us. Bvron demanded the most 
unwearied editorial care from hLs printers, and some dereliction 
of duty, some neglect of the anise and cummin of the publisher s 
art, dictated this amusing outbui'st of wrath. 

Lord Byron to John Murray. 

2, Albany: April 29, 1814. 

Dear Sir, — I enclose a draft for the money ; when paid, send 
the copyright. I release you from the thousand pounds agreed on 
for the Giaour and Bride, and there's an end. 

If any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please ; 
but, with the exception of two copies of each for yourself only, I 
expect and request that the advertisements be withdrawn, and the 
remaining copies of all destroyed ; and any expense so incurred I 
will be glad to defray. 

For all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. I have 
none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the 
circumstances of consequence enough to require explanation. 

In course, I need hardly assure you that they never shall be 



488 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

published with my consent, directly, or indirectly, "by any other 
person whatsoever, — that I am perfectly satisfied, and have every 
reason so to be, with your conduct in all transactions between us 
as publisher and author. 

It will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaintance, 
and to consider you as my friend. 

Believe me very truly, and for much attention, 

Your obliged and very obedient servant, 

Byron. 

P.S. — I do not think that I have overdrawn at Hammersley's ; 
but if that be the case, I can draw for the superflux on Hoare's. 
The draft is £5 short, but that I will make up. On payment — 
not before — return the copyright papers. 



CCXOVIII. 

Thus commences, auspiciously enough, that singularly 
deplorable connection over which so much scandalous specula- 
tion has hesn wasted, and so much vulgar curiosity exposed. 
That a union between the sea and a forest pool, between the 
most fiery and the most chilly of mortals, could continue long 
or terminate happily, was scarcely to be expected, yet who 
could foresee the end would be so near, the agony so intense ? 

Lord Byron to TJiomas Moore, 

Newstead Abbey : September 20, 1814. 
Here's to her who long 

Hath waked the poet's sigh ! 
The girl who gave to song 

What gold could never buy. 

My dear Moore, — I am goiog to be married — that is, I am 
accepted, and one usually hopes the rest will follow. My mother 
of the Gracchi (that are to be) you think too strait-laced for me, 
although the paragon of only children, and invested with ' golden 
opinions of all sorts of men,' and full of ' most blest conditions ' as 
Desdemona herself. Miss Milbanke is the lady, and I have her 
father's invitation to proceed there in my elect capacity, — which, 
however, I cannot do till I have settled some business in London 
and got a blue coat. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 489 

She is said to be an heiress, but of that I really know nothing 
certainly, and shall not enquire. But I do know, that she has 
talents and excellent qualities; and you will not deny her judg- 
ment, after having refused six suitors and taken me. 

Now, if you have any thing to say against this, pray do ; my 
mind's made up, positively fixed, determined, and therefore I will 
listen to reason, because now it can do no harm. Things may 
occur to break it off, but I will hope not. In the mean time, I 
tell you (a secret, by the by, — at least, till I know she wishes it to 
be public,) that I have proposed and am accepted. You need not 
be in a hurry to wish me joy, for one mayn't be married for 
months. I am going to town to-morrow ; but expect to be here, 
on my way there, within a fortnight. 

If this had not happened, I should have gone to Italy. In my 
way down, perhaps, you will meet me at Nottingham, and come 
over with me here. I need not say that nothing will give me 
greater pleasure. I must, of course, reform thoroughly; and, 
seriously, if I can contribute to her happiness, I shall secure my 
own. She is so good a person, that — that — ^in short, I wish I was 
a better. Ever, &c. 

CCXOIX. 

This letter was written in a copy of ' Corinne ' during Madame 
Guiccioli's absence from Bologna, it being Byron's whim to sit 
daily in her garden, among her books, at the usual hour of his 
visit. Fifty years afterwards the Italian lady essayed to write 
the memoirs of her lover, but the book was a disappointment to 
his admirers, for her memory had failed and she had no style. 

Lord Byron to the Marchesa Guiccioli. 

Bologna : August 25, 1819. 
My dearest Teresa, — I have read this book in your garden ; — 
my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is 
a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. 
You will not understand these English words, and others will not 
understand them — which is the reason I have not scrawled them 
in Italian. But you will recognise the handwriting of him who 
passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book 
which was yours, he could only think of love. In that word, 
beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours — Amor mio — is 



490 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

comprised my existence here and hereafter. I feel I exist here, 
and I fear that I shall exist hereafter, — to what purpose you will 
decide ; my destiny rests with you, and vou" are a woman, eighteen 
years of age, and two out of a convent. I wish that you had 
stayed there, with all my heart — or, at least, that I had never 
met you in your married state. 

But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, — at 
least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great 
consolation in all events. But I more than love you, and cannot 
cease to love you. 

Think of me sometimes, when the Alps and the ocean divide 
us, — but they never will, unless you wish it. 

Byron. 

ceo. 

Byron was helter suited to an Italian than to an English life. 
His habitual indolent good-nature, with flashes of vehement 
passion, was easily satisfied with Southern manners, and he had 
a peculiar felicity in describing them. He tells a tragical story 
here with great effect. 

Lord Byron to Thomas Moore, 

Ravenna : December 9, 1820. 

1 open my letter to tell you a fact, which will show the state 
of this country better than I can. The commandant of the 
troops is now lying dead in my house. He was shot at a little 
past eight o'clock, about two hundred paces from my door. I 
was putting on my great-coat to visit Madame la Contessa G. 
when I heard the shot. On coming into the hall, I found all my 
servants on the balcony, exclaiming that a man was murdered. I 
immediately ran down, calling on Tita (the bravest of them) to 
follow me. The rest wanted to hinder us from going, as it is the 
custom for every body here, it seems, to run away from ' the 
stricken deer.' 

However, down we ran, and found him lying on his back, 
almost, if not quite dead with five wounds, one in the heart, two in 
the stomach, one in the finger, and the other in the arm. Some 
soldiers cocked their guns, and wanted to hinder me from passing. 
However wc passed, and I found Diego, the adjutant, crying over 
him like a child — a surgeon who said nothing of his profession — 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 491 

a priest, sobbing a frightened prayer — and the commandant, 
all this time, on his back, on the hard, cold pavement, without 
light or assistance, or anything around him but confusion, and 
dismay. 

As nobody could, or would, do anything but howl and pray, 
and as no one would stir a finger to move him, for fear of con- 
sequences, I lost my patience — made my servant and a couple of 
the mob take up the body — sent oSf two soldiers to the guard — 
despatched Diego to the Cardinal with the news, and had the 
commandant carried up stairs into my own quarter. But it was 
too late, he was gone — not at all disfigured — bled inwardly — not 
above an ounce or two came out. 

I had him partly stripped — made the surgeon examine him, and 
examined him myself. He had been shot by cut balls or slugs. 
I felt one of the slugs, which had gone through him, all but the 
skin. Everybody conjectures why he was killed, but no one knows 
how. The gun was found close by him — an old gun, half filed 
down. 

He only said, ' Dio ! ' and * Gesu ! ' two or three times, and 
appeared to have suffered little. Poor fellow I he was a brave 
ofiicer, but had made himself much disliked by the people. I 
knew him personally, and had met him often at conversazioni and 
elsewhere. My house is full of soldiers, dragoons, doctors, priests, 
and all kinds of persons, — though I have now cleared it, and clapt 
sentinels at the doors. To-morrow the body is to be moved. The 
town is in the greatest confusion, as you may suppose. 

You are to know that, if I bad not had the body moved, they 
would have left him there till morning in the street, for fear of 
consequences. I would not choose to let even a dog die in such a 
manner, without succour : — and, as for consequences, I care for none 
in a duty. 

Yours, &c. 

P.S. The lieutenant on duty by the body is smoking his pipe 
with great composure.- A queer people this. 



492 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



CCCI. 

In Byron's famous controversy with tlie Rev. W. L. Bowles 
upon the merits of Alexander Pope, whom the former gravely 
preferred to Shakespeare and Milton, there was something of 
wilful arrogance and something, too, of real critical insight. 
There was a tendency abroad at that time, in the flush of 
romantic revival, to depreciate the exquisite and polished art of 
Pope ; yet it was scarcely the author of the ' Corsair ' from whom 
a defence of Augustan poetry was to he expected. Nor did he 
altogether succeed ' in making manure of Bowles for the top of 
Mount Parnassus.' 

Lord Byron to Thomas Moore. 

Ravenna : May 3, 1821. 

Though I wrote to you on the 28th ultimo, I must acknowledge 
yours of this day, with the lines. They are sublime, as well as 
beautiful, and in your very best mood and manner. They are also 
but too true. 

However, do not confound the scoundrels at the heel of the 
boot with their betters at the top of it. I assure you that there 
are some loftier spirits. 

Nothing, however, can be better than your poem, or more 
deserved by the Lazzaroni. They are now abhorred and disclaimed 
nowhere more than here. 

We will talk over these things (if we meet) some day, and I 
will recount my own adventures, some of which have been a little 
hazardous, perhaps. 

So, you have got the Letter on Bowles ? I do not recollect to 

have said anything of you that could offend, certainly, nothing 

intentionally. As for ... , I meant him a compliment. 1 
wrote the whole off-hand, without copy or correction, and expecting 
then every day to be called into the field. What have I said of 
you % I am sure I forget. It must be something of regret for 
your approbation of Bowles. And did you not approve, as he 
says 1 Would I had known that before ! I would have given him 
some more gruel. My intention was to make fun of all these 
fellows ; but how I succeeded, I don't know. 

As to Pope, I have always regarded him as the greatest name 
in our poetry. Depend upon it the rest are barbarians. He is a 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 493 

Greek Temple, with a Gothic Cathedral on one hand, and a 
Turkish Mosque and all sorts of fantastic pagodas and conventicles 
about him. You may call Shakespeare and Milton, pyramids, if 
you please, but I prefer the Temple of Theseus or the Parthenon 
to a mountain of burnt brick- work. 

The Murray has written to me but once, the day of its pub- 
lication, when it seemed prosperous. But I have heard of late from 
England but rarely. Of Murray's other publications (of mine), 
I know nothing, — nor whether he has published. He was to 
have done so a month ago. I wish you would do something, — 
or that we were together. 

Ever yours and affectionately 

B. 



CCCII. 

These two letters tell their own story. They have been 
selected partly because they illustrate a singularly toiichiiig and 
romantic episode in the life of the great poet to whom they 
refer, and because of their own intrinsic merits. Mr. Sheppard's 
letter is a model of tact and good sense under circumstances of 
no ordinary delicacy, and Byron's reply proves that with all his 
cynical egotism his heart was far from being a stranger to gene- 
rous emotions. His dissertation might perhaps, considering the 
occasion, have been spared ; but the letter is very creditable to 
him. 

John Sheppard to Lord Byron. 

Erome, Somerset : November 21, 1821. 
My Lord, — More than two years since, a lovely and beloved 
wife was taken from me, by lingering disease after a very short 
union. She possessed unvarying gentleness and fortitude, and a 
piety so retiring as rarely to disclose itself in words, but so in- 
fluential as to produce uniform benevolence of conduct. In the 
last hour of life, after a farewell look on a lately born and only 
infant, for whom she had evinced inexpressible affection, her last 
whispers were ' God's happiness ! God's happiness ! ' Since the 
second anniversary of her decease, I have read some papers which 
no one had seen during her life, and which contain her most secret 
thoughts. I am induced to communicate to your Lordship a 
passage from these papers, which there is no doubt, refers to your- 
22* 



494 ENGLISH LETTERS. [IIQO- 

self, as I have more than once heard the writer mention your 
agility on the rocks at Hastings. 

' Oh, my God, I take encouragement from the assurance of thy 
Word, to pray to Thee in behalf of one for whom I have lately 
been much interested. May the person to whom I allude (and who is 
now, we fear, as much distinguished for his neglect of Thee as for 
the transcendent talents thou hast bestowed on him) be awakened 
to a sense of his own danger, and led to seek that peace of mind 
in a proper sense of religion, which he has found this world's enjoy- 
ments unable to procure. Do Thou grant that his future example 
may be productive of far more extensive benefit than his past 
conduct and writings have been of evil ; and may the Sun of 
righteousness, which, w^e trust, will, at some future period, arise on 
him, be bright in proportion to the darkness of those clouds which 
guilt has raised around him, and the balm which it bestows, healing 
and soothing in proportion to the keenness of that agony which 
the punishment of his vices has inflicted on him ! May the hope 
that the sincerity of my own efforts for the attainment of holiness, 
and the approval of my own love to the great Author of religion, 
will render this prayer, and every other for the welfare of man- 
kind, more efficacious ! — cheer me in the path of duty ; — but, let 
me not forget, that, while we are permitted to animate ourselves to 
exertion by every innocent motive, these are but the lesser streams 
which may serve to increase the current, but which, deprived of 
the grand fountain of good, (a deep conviction of inborn sin, and 
firm belief in the efficacy of Christ's death for the salvation of 
those who trust in him, and really wish to serve him,) would soon 
dry up, and leave us barren of every virtue as before. 

' July 31, 1814— HastiDgs.' 

There is nothing, my Lord, in this extract which, in a literary 
sense, can at all interest you ; but it may, perhaps, appe?vr to you 
worthy of reflection how deep and expansive a concern for the 
happiness of others the Christian faith can awaken in the midst 
of youth and prosperity. Here is nothing poetical and splendid, 
as in the expostulatory homage of M. De Lamartine ; but here is 
the suhlime, my Lord ; for this intercession was offered, on your 
account, to the supreme Source of happiness. It sprang from a 
fiuth more confirmed than that of the French poet, and from 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 495 

a charity which, in combination with faith, showed its power un- 
impaired amidst the languors and pains of approaching dissolution. 
I will hope that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply sincere, 
may not be always unavailing. It would add nothing, my Lord, 
to the fame with which your genius has surrounded you, for an 
unknown and obscure individual to express his admii^ation of it. 
I had rather be numbered with those who wish and pray, that 
' wisdom from above,' and ' peace,' and joy,' may enter such a 
mind. 

John Sheppard. 



ccom. 

Jjord Byron to John Sheppard. 

Pisa: Decembers, 1821. 
Sir, — I have received your letter. I need not say that the 
extract which it contains has affected me, because it would imply 
a want of all feeling to have read it with indifference. Though 
I am not quite sure that it was intended by the writer for 
me, yet the date, the place where it was written, with some other 
cii'cumstances that you mention, render the allusion probable. 
But for whomever it was meant, I have read it with all the pleasure 
which can arise from so melancholy a topic. I say pleasure — 
because your brief and simple picture of the life and demeanour of 
the excellent person whom I trust you will again meet, cannot be 
contemplated without the admiration due to her virtues, and her 
pure and unpretending piety. Her last moments were particularly 
striking ; and T do not know that, in the course of reading the 
story of mankind, and still less in my observations upon the exist- 
ing portion, I ever met with anything so unostentatiously beauti- 
fid. Indisputably, the firm believers in the Gospel have a great 
advantage over all others, — for this simple reason, that if true, 
they will have their reward hereafter ; and if there be no hereafter, 
they can be but with the infidel in his eternal sleep, having had 
the assistance of an exalted hope, through life, without subsequent 
disappointment, since (at the worst for them) out of nothing, 
nothing can arise, not even sorrow. But a man's creed does not 
depend upon himself: loho can say, I ivill believe this, that, or the 
other % and least of all, that which he least can comprehend. I 



496 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

have, however, observed, that those who have begun life with 
extreme faith, have in the end greatly narrowed it, as Chilling- 
worth, Clarke (who ended as an Arian), Bayle, and Gibbon (once a 
Catholic), and some others ; while on the other hand, nothing is 
more common than for the early sceptic to end in a firm belief, 
like Maupertius, and Henry Kirke White. 

But my business is to acknowledge your letter, and not to 
make a dissertation. I am obliged to you for your good wishes, 
and more than obliged by the extract from the papers of the 
beloved object whose qualities you have so well described in a few 
words. I can assure you that all the fame which ever cheated 
humanity into higher notions of its own importance would never 
weigh in my mind against the pure and pious interest which 
a virtuous being may be pleased to take in my welfare. In this 
point of view, I would not exchange the prayer of the deceased in 
my behalf for the united glory of Homer, Csesar, and Napoleon, 
could such be accumulated upon a living head. Do me at least the 
justice to suppose, that 

Video meliorca proboque, 
however the ' deteriora sequor ' may have been applied to my 
conduct. 

I have the honour to be 



Your obliged and obedient servant 



Byron. 



CCCIV. 



A single specimen of Theodore Hook's absurdly facetious 
' Eamsbottom Letters ' is selected. The style has been imitated 
a good deal in our own day. 

Miss Dorothea Ramshottom to Mr. Bull. 

Montague Place : January 6, 1825. 
Dear Mr. Bull, — "Why don't you write to us — or call ? We 
are all of us well, and none of us no more, as perhaps you may 
suppose, except poor Mr. Bam, — of course you know of his 
disease, it was quite unexpected, with a spoonful of turtle in hia 
mouth — the real gallipot as they call it. However, I have no 
doubt he is gone to heaven, and my daughters are gone to Bath, 
except Lavy, who is my pet, and never quits me. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 497 

The physicians paid great attention to poor Mr. Ram ; and he 
suffered nothing — at least that I know of. It was a very comfort- 
able thing that I was at home shay new, as the French say, when 
he went, because it is a great pleasure to see the last of one's rela- 
tions and friends. 

You know we have been to Room since you heard from us — 
the infernal City as it is called — the seat of Popery, and where the 
Pop himself lives. He was one of the Carnals, and was elected 
just before we was there : he has changed his name, not choosing 
to disgrace his family. He was formerly Doctor Dallyganger, but 
he now calls himself Leo, which the Papists reverse, and call 
him Ole or Oleness. He is a fine cretur, and was never married, 
but he has published a Bull in Room, which is to let people com- 
mitt all kind of sin without impunity, which, is different from your 
Bull, which shoes up them as does any crime. He is not Pop this 
year, for he has proclaimed Jew Billy in his place, which is very 
good, considering the latter gentleman is a general, and not of his 
way of thinking. 

Oh, Mr. Bull, Room is raley a beautiful place — We entered it 
by the Point of Molly, which is just like the Point and Sally at 
Porchmouth, only they call Sally there Port, which is not known 
in Room. The Tiber is not a nice river, it looks yellow ; but it 
does the same there as the Tames does here. We hired a carry- 
letty and a cocky-oily, to take us to the Church of Salt Peter, 
which is prodigious big ; — in the center of the pizarro there is a 
baselisk very high — on the right and left two handsome found- 
lings ; and the farcy, as Mr. Pulmer called it, is ornamented with 
collateral statutes of some of the Apostates. There is a great 
statute of Salt Peter himself, but Mr. Pulmer thinks it to be 
Jew Peter, which I think likely too — there were three brothers of 
the same name, as of course you know — Jew Peter the fortuitous, 
the capillary, and toe-nails ; and it is euros that it must be him, 
for his toes are kissed away by the piety of the religious debau- 
ches who visit his shin or shrine. Besides I think it is Jew Peter, 
because why should not he be worshipped as well as Jew Billy % — ■ 
Mr. Fulmer made a pun, Lavy told me, and said the difference 
between the two Jew Billies was, that one drew all the people to 
the sinagog, and the other set all the people agog to sin — I don't 
conceive his meaning, which I am afraid is a Dublin tender. 



498 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

There was a large quire of singers, but they squeaked too mucli 
to please me — and played on fiddles, so I suppose they have no 
organs j — the priests pass all their time in dissolving sinners by 
oracular confusion, which, like transmogrification, is part of their 
doctoring — the mittens in the morning, and whispers at night, is 
just equally the same as at Paris. 

Next to Salt Peter's Church is the Church of Saint John the 
Latter end, where the Pop always goes when he is first made — 
there is another basilisk here covered with highrogreffins. I 
assure you the Colocynth is a beautiful ruin — it was built for 
fights, and Mr. Fulmer said that Hel of a gabbler, an Emperor, 
filled his theatre with wine — what a sight of marvels Mr. B. oh so 
superb ! — the carraway, and paring, and the jelly and tea- cup, 
which are all very fine indeed. 

The Veteran (which I used foolishly to call the Vacuum till I 
had been there,) is also filled with statutes — one is the body of the 
angel Michael, which has been ripped to pieces, and is therefore 
said to be Tore — so — but I believe this to be a poetical fixture : — 
the statute of the Pacoon is very moving, its tail is prodigious 
long, and goes round three on 'em — the Antipodes is also a fine 
piece of execution. As for paintings there is no end to them in 
Poom — Mr. Paffles's Transmigration is, I think, the finest — much 
better than his Harpoons : — there are several done by Hannah 
Bell Scratchy, which are beautiful ; I dare say she must be related 
to Lady Bell, who is a very clever painter, you know, in London. 
The Delapidation of St John by George Honey is very fine, besides 
several categorical paintings, which pleased me very much. The 
shops abound with Cammyhoes and Tallyhoes — which last always 
reminded me of the sports of the field at home, and the cunning of 
sly Peynolds a getting away from the dogs. They also make 
Scally holies at Pome, and what they call obscure chairs — but, oh, 
Mr. B. what a cemetry there is in the figure of the Venus of 
Medicine, which belongs to the Duke of Tusk and eye — her con- 
tortions are perfect. 

We walked about in the Viccissitude, and hilled a maccaroni, or 
8S the French, alluding to the difficulty of satisfying the English, 
call them a * Lucky to please,' and, of course, exploded the Arch of 
Tights and the Baths of Diapason. Poor Lavy, whom I told you 
was fond of silly quizzing, fell down on the Tarpaulin Rock in one 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 499 

of her revelries — Mr. Fuliner said it would make a capital story 
when she got home, but I never heard another syllabub about it. 

One thing surprised me, the Pop wears three crowns together, 
which are so heavy that they call his cap, a tirer. His Oleness 
vvas ill the last day we went to the Chapel at the Choir and all, 
having taken something deliiious the day before at dinner ; he was 
afterwards confined with romantic gout; but we saw enough of 
him after, and it was curious to observe the Carnals prostrating 
-themselves successfully before him— he is like the German corn- 
plaster which Mr. Ram used to use — quite unavailable. 

However, Mr. B. the 'best part of all, I think, was our coming 
home — I was so afraid of the pandittis, who were all in trimbush 
with arquebasedes and Ba2;nets that I had no peace all the time 
we were on root — but I must say T liked Fiiskhearty ; and 
Tiffaly pleased me, and so did Miss Senis's Yilla and the Casket 
Alley; however, home is home, be it never so homely, and here 
we are, thank our stars. 

"We have a great deal to tell you, if you will but call upon us 
— Lavy has not been at the halter yet, nor do I know when she 
will, because of the mourning for poor Mr. Ram — indeed I have 
suffered a great deal of shag-green on account of his disease, and 
above all have not been able to have a party on Twelfth Night. — 
Yours truly, 

Dorothea Ramsbottom. 

Pray write, dear Mr. B. 



CCOV. 

In the ' Fugglestone Correspondence ' Theodore Hook made 
some quizzing remarks on an itinerant company of players 
which Charles Mathews, the elder, foolishly accepted as a 
deliberate insult to the profession to which he belonged. The 
short interruption which followed in the intimacy of these two 
old friends was removed by the following letter. 

Theodore Hook to Charles Mathews. 

Cleveland Row: March 5, 1829. 

My Dear Mathews, — You are now about one of the oldest 

acquaintances I have (or just now have not) ; some of my happiest 

hours have been passed in your company ; I hate mincing (except 

in a case of veal). There is a difference, not perhaps existing 



600 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700^ 

between us, but between you now and yourself at other times. 
They {on) say that you have been annoyed with one of my tales, as 
if any man except a pacha had more than one \ and our good- 
natured friends, bless them, make out that you are personally 
affected by some of the jokes about the Fugglestones, and other 
imaginary personages. Now, I verily believe that, if I had read 
that story to you before it was published, you would have enjoyed 
it more than any body who has read it ; since to ridicule the bad 
part of a profession can be no satire upon the good ; and, as I 
have said somewhere before, Lawrence might as well be annoyed 
at the abuse of sign-painters, or Halford angry at a satire upon 
quacks, as you personally with any thing reflecting upon the lower 
part of the theatrical world. From you yourself I verily believe I 
culled the art of ridiculing the humbugs of the profession. How- 
ever, why you should suppose that I, after having for years (in 
every way I could) contributed — needlessly, I admit— to sup- 
port your talents, merits, and character, professional and private, 
could mean to offend you, I cannot imagine. I can only say that 
nothing was further from my intention than to wound your feel- 
ings, or those of any other individual living, by what seemed to me 
a fair travestie of a fair subject for ridicule, and which I repeat 
never could apply to you, or any man in your sphere or station. 

Now the upshot of all this is this, — where not the smallest 
notion of personal affront was contemplated, I think no personal 
feeling should remain. If you think so, come and call upon me, or 
tell me where I may pay you a visit. If you don't think so, why 
say nothing about it, and burn this letter. But do whichever of 
these things you may, rest assured I do not forget old associations, 
and that I am, and shall he, my dear Mathews, as much yours as 
ever. 

And now, having said my say, I remain. 

Yours most truly 

The. E. Hook. 



CCOVI. 

When Mr. Bentley started his 'Miscellany' in the year 
1837, with Charles Dickens for his principal contributor, he 
induced the Rev. R. H. Barham to assist the regular staff of 
collaborateurs with occasional offerings ; and mider the pseudo- 
nym of ' Thomas Ingoldshy ' legend after legend appeared, and 



ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS. 501 

gave popularity to the new venture. To the lady (the grand- 
mother of the author of ' Tom Brown's School-days ') to whom 
the following letter is addressed, Mr. Barham was indebted not 
only for constant supplies of legendary lore, but for the neces- 
sary incentive to continue the work he had commenced. He 
fully acknowledges this on the title-page of a presentation copy 
of the ' Legends.' 

To Mrs, Hughes, who made me do 'em, 
Quod placeo est— si placeo — tuum. 

The Rev. JR. II. Barham to Mrs. Hughes. 

March 1, 1837. 

My dear Madam, — Unluckily, I was too late for your last 
parcel, but the worthy Mr. Sharps promises me this shall go. 
Enclosed you will have the Spectre of Tappington, the pictorial 
illustration to which I think I told you was Dick's. You will say, 
perhaps, he might have been better employed. You will also 
recognise Hampden Pye, transformed, for the nonce, into Hamilton 
Tighe, which rhymes as well and prevents all unpleasant feelings, 
or the chance of them. You will see also that other liberties have 
been taken with his story, which may, after all, perhaps be only 
supplying omissions ; for if poor Hampden was shot, somebody 
must have shot him, and why not ' Hairy-faced Dick ' as well as 
anybody else % The inference is most illogical and, I think, 
conclusive. 

I have this moment sent Bentley a real Kentish legend, or 
rather the amalgamation of two into one, for his next number, 
which Mr. Dick has also undertaken ^ illustrate as before. I 
should much like to have your opinion of the Miscellany. At 
present it does not bear out Hook's prophecy; he said the title 
was ominous — ' Miss-sell-any ; ' but, so far from this being the 
case, Bentley assures me he has sold six thousand of the last 
number, and that he considers the speculation now as safe. He 
has just given Charles Mathews five hundred pounds for his 
father's MSS., to form materials for a life of him, which Hook is 
to execute, and have five hundred more for the job. The book 
will be in three vols, with portraits, &c., and, as the editor is 
heart and soul in the affair, will, I have no doubt, be a most 
amusing one. Jack Brag is not yet out, but I have seen the 
proofs of all that is printed of it. It is not so good, certainly as 



502 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

Gilbert Gurney, but is, nevertheless, full of fun, with some palpable 
hits in it. 

Mrs. Clarke [ci-devant), whom you inquire after, is so far from 
quitting her Quickly occupation that she may be said to be now a 
double landlady, inasmuch as her new husband drives a roaring 
trade in another publichouse, between which and her own she 
vibrates as a sort of Bacchanalian pendulum. I have not yet seen 
the Rev. Sydney, though, as his month commences to-day, I pre- 
sume I soon shall. Perhaps I ought to have called, as he sent me 
his pamphlet. He did not take in the Bishop [of Llandaff], who 
hit upon the forgery at first sight. The name of Yorstius alone 
fixed the chronology and detected the imposition, which, after all, 
is the funniest I have seen.^ I am told the pamphlet has had a 
great effect upon the Commissioners, and that he will carry his 
point as to the patronage. To-morrow night's debate will let us 
into the secret. 

What do you think of my Lord de Boos and Mr. Cumming ? 
I enclose you the following epigram, which is an impromptu of 
Hook's :— 

Cease your humming, 
The matter's done : 
Defendant's Cutnminff ; 
Plaintiff's Gone ! 

By the way, the Duke of Beaufort and Lord Chesterfield are 
said to have intimated their intention of supporting his Lord- 
ship, and the following hit at his Grace is going the round of the 
clubs. Somebody was saying that the Duke had already left his 
card with De Boos. * Did he mark it 1 ' was asked. ^ Of course 
not,' was the answer. ' 0, then,' said Poole, who often says very 
sharp things, ' it's clear he did not consider it an honour.' I wish 
Mr. Hughes could be prevailed upon to give Bentley a lift ! Has 
he seen the book 1 My paper warns me to conclude, but I have 
just room to tell you that Mr. Tate has taken the living of 
Hutton, now vacant, and that Hawes has entered a caveat against 



* Allusion to the story of the Synod of Dort, told by Sydney Smith in 
his Letter to Archdeacon Singleton on the Church Commission. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 503 

him, claiming the presentation himself in his capacity of almoner. 
I don't think he has a chance of establishing his claim. 
Believe me to remain, as ever, etc. 

E. H. Barham. 



CCOVII. 

Mr. Barbam, like his intimate friend, Theodore Hook, pos- 
sessed extmordiuary facility in -v\-riting rhymed letters, birthday 
odes, and impromptu verses of all descriptions ; but he rarely, 
if ever, attempted ajmn. Of these funny trides one of the best 
is the following note of invitation. 

The Rev. jR. H. Barham to Dr. Wilmot, of Ashford, 

Doctor ! wilt thou dine with me 
And drive on Tuesday morning down 1 
Can ribs of beef have charms for thee — 
The fat, the lean, the luscious brown % 
No longer dressed in silken sheen, 
Nor deck'd with rings and brooches rare, 
Say, wilt thou come in velveteen, 
Or corduroys that never tear ? 

Doctor ! when thou com'st away. 
Wilt thou not bid John ride behind, 
On pony, clad in livery gay, 
To mark the bii-ds our pointers find 1 
Let him a flask of darkest green 
Replete with cherry brandy bear, 
That we may still, our toils between, 
That fascinating fluid share ! 

O Doctor ! canst thou aim so true 
As we through briars and brambles go, 
To reach the partridge brown of hue. 
And lay the mounting pheasanr low 
Or should, by chance, it so Defail 
Thy path be cross'd by timid hare, 
Say, wilt thou for the gamebag call 
And place the fur-clad victim there 



604 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 

And wlien at last the dark'ning sky 
Proclaims the hour of dinner near, 
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 
And quit thy sport for homely cheer % 
The cloth withdrawn, removed the tray — 
Say, wilt thou, snug in elbow-chair, 
The bottle's progress scorn to stay, 
Eut fill, the fairest of the fair % 



COCVIII. 

Of all the literary and social lions who helped to render 
* Gore House ' famous, Lady Blessington regarded Walter Savage 
Land or with the greatest respect and honour. 

As the author of the 'Imaginary Conversations' wrote 
chiefly to entertain himself, and had few competitors in the 
first rank of writers of English prose, it was scarcely necessary 
for the Countess to assure him (then in his sixtieth year), of 
his successes in literature. Mr. Landor was residing in Italy 
at this time. 

Lady Blessington to Walter Savage Landor. 

London, Seamore Place : March 16, 1835. 

The introduction to your ' Examination ' ^ is printed, and the 
* Conference of Spenser and Lord Essex ' follows the ' Examina- 
tion,' and reads admirably in print. I have read all the proof 
sheets, and hope you will be satisfied wdth their correctness, and 
Messrs. Saunders and Otley have informed me that the book will 
be out in the course of this week. Of its success I entertaiQ no 
doubt, though I have had many proofs that the excellence of lite- 
rary productions cannot always command their success. So much 
depends on the state of the literary horizon when a work presents 
itself; the sky is at present much overclouded by the unsettled 
state of politics at home and abroad ; but notwithstanding all this, 
I am very sanguine in my expectations about the success your 
book will have, and so are the publishers. 

The * Conference ' is peculiarly interesting, as bearing on the 
state of Ireland, vzhich, alas ! now, as in the reign of Elizabeth, 
remains unsettled, unsatisfied and unsatisfying; resisting hitherto 

• ' Examination on William Shakspeare,' by "W. S. L. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS, 505 

the various remedies that have been applied to ]\er disease by severe 
surgeons or timid practitioners. I think very highly of the ' Exami- 
nation ; ' it is redolent with the joyous spirit of the immortal bard, 
with whom you have identified yourself; his frequent pleasantry 
wantons in the breast of song, while snatches of pathos break in 
contiQually in the prose. The * Conference ' is deeply interesting, 
and so dissimilar from the ' Examination ' that it is difficult to 
imagine it the work of the same mind, if one did not know that 
.true genius possesses the power of variety in style and thought. I 
wish you could be pei-suaded to write your memoirs ; what a trea- 
sure they loould prove to 'posterity. ^ Tracing the working of such 
a mind as yours, a mind that has never submitted to the ignoble 
fetters that a corrupt and artificial society would impose, could not 
fail to be highly interesting, as well as useful, by giving courage to 
the timid and strength to the weak, and teaching them to rely on 
their own intellectual resources instead of leaning on that feeble 
reed the world, which can wound but not su^^port those who rely 
on it. ]Mr. E. Lytton Bulwer's new novel, • The Last Days of 
Pompeii,' has been out a fortnight; it is an admirable work, and 
does him honour. He refers to you in one of the notes to it as 
* his learned friend Mr. Landor,' so you see you are in a fair way of 
being praised (if not understood) by the dandies, as his book is in 
the hands of the whole tribe. The uovel is dedicated to our friend 
Sir William Gell. There is no year in which your fame does not 
gain at all sides, and it is now so much the fashion to praise you, 
that you are quoted by many who are as incapable of appreciating 
as of equalling you. 

M. Blessington. 



' Writing to his friend John Forster a quarter of a century after this 
hope had been expressed, Landor said, ' You may live to superintend such 
edition or selection of my writings as may be called for after my death. 
I place them in your hands with the more pleasure, since you have thought 
them not unworthy of your notice, and even your study, among the labours 
of our greatest authors, our Patriots in the best times. The world is 
indebted to you for a knowledge of their characters and their works : I 
shall be contented to be as long forgotten, if I arise with the same advan- 
tages at last.' Hence the well-known edition, completed in 1876. 



506 ENGLISH LETTERS, [1700- 



COOIX. 

In the abundance of characteristic traits contained in the 
• letters which Shelley wrote during his restless life in Italy, we 
are enabled to see in this ' eternal child ' the union of the finest 
moral nature with poetic genius of exquisite sensibility. All the 
peculiar phases of his character are in these letters developed 
with sufficient distinctness to mark him as the strangest and 
most interesting of literary geniuses. In waging war against 
Christianity or the rights of marriage — against the rich and 
strong in favour of the poor and weak — against political corrup- 
tion and social despotism^ we see the young delicate enthusiast, 
with grand self-denial and earnestness, expending precious 
energy in an insatiable yearning to benefit his fellow-creatures. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley to Henry Reveley. 

Florence : November 17, 1819. 

My dear Henry, — I was exceedingly interested by your letter, 
and I cannot but thank you for overcoming the inaptitude of a 
long disuse at my request, for my pleasure. It is a' great thing 
done, the successful casting of the cylinder. May it be a happy 
auspice for what is to follow ! I hope, in a few posts, to remit the 
necessary money for the completion. Meanwhile, are not those 
portions of the work which can be done without expense, saving 
time in their progress ? Do you think you lose much money or 
time by this delay ? All that you say of the alteration in the form 
of the boat strikes me, though one of the multitude in this respect, 
as improvement. I long to get aboard her, and be an unworthy 
partaker in the glory of the astonishment of the Livornese, when 
she returns from her cruise round Melloria. When do you think 
she will be fit for sea ? 

Your volcanic description of the birth of the cylinder is very 
characteristic of you and of it. One might imagine God, when he 
made the earth, and saw the granite mountains and flinty promon- 
tories flow into their craggy forms, and the splendour of their 
fusion filling millions of miles of the void space, like the tail of a 
comet, so looking, so delighting in his work. God sees his machine 
spinning round the sun, and delights in its success, and has taken 
out patents to supply all the suns in space with the same manufac- 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 507 

ture. Your boat will be to the ocean of water, what this earth is 
to the ocean of ether — a prosperous and swift voyager. 

When shall we see you all? Tou not, I suppose, till your boat 
is ready to sail — and then, if not before, I must, of course, come to 
Livorno. Our plans for the winter are yet scarcely defined ; they 
tend towards our spending February and March at Pisa, where our 

communications will not be so distant, nor so epistolary. C 

left us a week ago, not without many lamentations, as all true 
lovers pay on such occasions. He is to write me an account of the 
Trieste steam-boat, which I will transmit to you. 

Mrs. Shelley, and Miss C return you their kindest saluta- 
tions, with interest. 

Most affectionately yours 

P. B. S. 



ccox. 

During Shelley's visit to Byron at Eavenna in 1821, the 
latter suggested that Leigh Hunt should join them at Pisa in 
the autumn and share in the speculation explained in this letter. 
Shelley's modest refusal to participate in the business was doubt- 
less sincere, although he at no time intended ever to be fettered 
in the expression of his opinions, nor would he compromise his 
friends by pubUshing such opinions in copartnership. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley to Leigh Hunt. 

Pisa : August 2Q, 1821. 
My dearest Friend, — Since I last wrote to you, I have been on 
a ^dsit to Lord Byron at Kavenna. The result of this visit was a 
determination, on his part, to come and live at Pisa ; and I have 
taken the finest palace on the Lung' Arno for him. But the 
material part of my visit consists in a message which he desires me 
to give you, and which, I think, ought to add to your determina- 
tion — for such a one I hope you have formed, of restoring your 
shattered health and spirits by a migration to these ' regions mild 
of calm and serene air.' He proposes that you should come and 
go shares with him and me, in a periodical work, to be conducted 
here ; in which each of the contracting parties should publish all 
their original compositions, and share the profits. He proposed it 
to Moore, but for some reason it was never brought to bear. 
There can be no doubt that the i^rojits of any scheme in which you 



60S ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

and Lord Byron engage, must, from various, yet co-cperating rea- 
sons, be very great. As for myself, I am, for tlie present, only a 
sort of link between you and him, until you can know each other, 
and effectuate the an'angement ; since (to entrust you with a secret 
which, for your sake, I withhold from Lord Byron) nothing would 
induce me to share in the profits, and still less, in the borrowed 
splendour of such a partnership. 

You and he, in different manners, would be equal, and would 
bring, in a different manner, but in the same proportion, equal 
stocks of reputation and success. Do not let my frankness with 
you, nor my belief that you deserve it more than Lord Byron, have 
the effect of deterring you from assuming a station in modern lite- 
rature, which the universal voice of my contemporaries forbids me 
either to stoop or to aspire to. I am, and I desire to be, nothing. 
I did not ask Lord Byron to assist me in sending a remittance for 
your journey ; because there are men, however excellent, from 
whom we would never receive an obligation, in the worldly sense 
of the word ; and I am as jealous for my friend as for myself; but 
I suppose that I shall at last make up an impudent face, and ask 
Horace Smith to add to the many obligations he has. conferred on 
me. I know I need only ask. I think I have never told you how 
very much I like your ' Amyntas ; ' it almost reconciles me to trans- 
lations. In another sense I still. demur. You might have written 
another such poem as the ' ISTymphs,' with no great access of efforts. 
I am full of thoughts and plans, and should do something, if the 
feeble and irritable frame which incloses it was willing to obey the 
spirit. I fancy that then I should do great things. Before this 
you will have seen 'Adonais.' Lord Byron, I suppose from 
modesty, on account of his being mentioned in it, did not say a 
word of ' Adonais,' though he was loud in his praise of ' Prome- 
theus,' and, what you will not agree with him in, censure of ' the 
Cenci.' Certainly, if ' Marino Faliero ' is a drama, ' the Cenci ' is 
not — but that between ourselves. Lord Byron is reformed, as far 
as gallantry goes, and lives with a beautiful and sentimental Italian 
Lady, who is as much attached to him as may be. I trust greatly 
to his intercourse with you, for his creed to become as pure as he 
thinks his conduct is. He has many generous and exalted quali- 
ties, but the canker of aristocracy wants to be cut out. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 509 



CCCXI. 

In the poem referred to in the following very characteristic 
letter, Slielley expressed his intense sympathy with the cause of 
Greek independence then struggling to assert itself. Shelley 
had an exaggerated admiration for everything Greek, and a 
hatred of everything Turkish. It was his opinion that 'we are 
all Greeks ; our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts have 
their roots in Greece.' In expressing his views of Christianity 
the poet is, as usual, very, outspoken. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley to 



Pisa : April 11, 1822. 

My dear . . . , — I have, as yet, received neither the .... 
nor his metaphysical companions — Time, my Lord, has a loallet on 
his back, and I suppose he has bagged them by the way. As he 
has had a good deal of alms for oblivion out of me, I think he 
might as well have favoured me this once ; I have, indeed, just 
dropped another mite into his treasury, called Hellas, which I 
know not how to send to you, but I dare say some fury of the 
Hades of authors will bring one to Paris. It is a poem written on 
the Greek cause last summer — a sort of lyrical, dramatic, non- 
descript piece of business. You will have heard of a 7'ow we have 
had here, which, I dare say, will gi'ow to a serious size before it 
arrives at Paris. It was, in fact, a trifling piece of business 
enough, arising from an insult of a drunken dragoon, offered to 
one of our party, and only serious, because one of Lord B.'s ser- 
vants wounded the fellow dangerously with a pitchfork. He is 
now, however, recovering, and the echo of the affair will be heard 
long after the original report has ceased. 

Lord Byron has read me one or two letters of Moore to him, in 
which Moore speaks with great kindness of me ; and of course I can- 
not but feel flattered by the approbation of a man, my inferiority 
to whom I am proud to acknowledge. Amongst other things, 
however, Moore, after giving Lord B. much good advice a.bout 
public oj)inion, (fee, seems to deprecate my influence on his mind, 
on the subject of religion, and to attribute the tone assumed in 
' Cain ' to my suggestions. Moore cautions him against my influ- 
ence on this particular, with the most friendly zeal ; and it is plain 
23 



510 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

tliat his motive springs from a desire of benefiting Lord B., without 
degrading me. I think you know Moore. Pray assure him that 
I have not the smallest influence over Lord Byron, in this parti- 
cular, and if I had, I certainly should employ it to eradicate 
from his great mind the delusions of Christianity, which, in spite 
of his reason, seem perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for 
the hours of sickness and distress. ' Cain ' was conceived many 
years ago, and begun before I saw him last year at Ravenna. How 
happy should I not be to attribute to myself, however indirectly, 
any participation in that immortal work ! I differ with Moore in 
thinking Christianity useful to the world ; no man of sense can 
think it true ; and the alliance of the monstrous superstitions of the 
popular worship with the pure doctrines of the Theism of such a 
man as Moore, turns to the profit of the former, and makes the 
latter the fountain of its own pollution. I agree with him that 
the doctrines of the French, and Material Philosophy, are as false 
as they are pernicious ; but still they are better than Christianity, 
inasmuch as anarchy is better than despotism ; for this reason, that 
the former is for a season, and that the latter is eternal. My ad- 
miration of the character, no less than of the genius- of Moore, 
makes me rather wish that he should not have an ill opinion of me. 
Where are you % We settle this summer near Spezzia ; Lord 
Byron at Leghorn. May not I hope to see you, even for a trip in 
Italy 1 I hope your wife and little ones are well. Mine grows a 
fine boy, and is quite well. I have contrived to get my musical 
coals at Newcastle itself. My dear . . . . , believe me. 

Faithfully yours, 

P. B. S- 



CCOXIL 

In Sir Frederick Pollock's two volumes of interesting ' Remi- 
niscences of Macready,' many highly characteristic letters of our 
great actor are given which point to the purity of his taste in 
matters dramatic and literary, and at once explain how that the 
English stage, during his reign, was elevated and refined, not so 
much by the comprehensiveness of his genius as by the hearty 
way he honoured his calHng. 

The Poet Laureate, in a sonnet composed for Macready on 
his retirement from the sta^^e, bids him 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 511 

Rank -witli the best, 
Garrick and statelier Kemble, and the rest 
Who made a nation purer through their ait. 
Thine is it that our drama did not die 
Nor flicker down to brainless pantomime 
And those gilt gauds men-children swarm to see. 

W. C. Macready to Frederick Pollock. 

Bournemouth, Hants : August 9, 1853. 

My dear Pollock, — In my desire to be furnished with abundant 
gifts to my adopted institution, for so the apathy of our Sherbor- 
nian magnates will justify me in calling it, I took advantage of 
yesterday's post to enclose a message of inquiry to you in my hasty 
acknowledgment of your's and Mrs. Pollock's kindness; and to-day 
I follow it with my apologies for pressing on you so startling an 
invitation in so abrupt a manner. This, however, I know you will 
readily excuse. Whether you will as readily feel disposed to come 
and tell my rustic friends who Dante was, what were his aims and 
objects of his life, and how they were frustrated, on what pinnacle 
of fame he stands, and what was the kind of work that placed him 
there — ' that is the question.' If my lungs had held good, and my 
head were equal to the employment, I should apply their powers in 
this way, and endeavour * to scatter plenty ' of knowledge among 
my less fortunate fellow-men. But I am a worn-out instrument, 
and have to content myself with the manifestation of my will. 

I was very much interested by your remarks on the German 
Hamlet, With much attention to the various criticisms I have 
seen on Devrient, I am disposed to regard him as a very second-rate 
mind. You characterise his performance as ' frigid and tiresome.' 
There is a volume in those two words. The morbidly acute sensi- 
bility and sensitiveness of Hamlet to be frozen up and stagnated in 
a declaiming and attitudinising statue or automaton leaves room 
for no further remark, but induces me to submit to you, whether 
you have not conceded more to the actor than he can rightly claim 
in pronouncing ' his understanding of the character to be correct.' 
We apply these terms of praise (and they are high praise) erro- 
neously, I think, to a man who, in his delivery, shows us he under- 
stands the words he is uttering. But to fathom the depths of 
character, to trace its latent motives, to feel its finest quiverings of 
emotion, to comprehend the thoughts that are liidden under words, 



512 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

and thus possess oneself of the actual mind of the individual man, 
is the highest reach of the player's art, and is an achievement that 
I have discerned but in few. Kean — when under the impulse of 
his genius he seemed to clutch the Avhole idea of the man — was an 
exti-aordinary instance among those possessing the faculty of imper- 
sonation. But if he missed the character in his first attempt at 
conception, he never could recover it by study. IMrs. Siddons, in 
a loftier style, and to a greater extent, had this intuitive power. 
Indeed, she was a marvel — I might almost say a miracle. John 
Kemble is greatly overrated, I think, by the clever men, who, in 
their first enthusiasm, caught a glimpse of the skirts of his glory. 
Neither in Hamlet nor Macbeth, nor even in the passionate parts 
of Coriolanus did he give me the power of belief in him. He was 
veiy clever in points and magnificent in person. But what am I 
doing, and where have I been led? reading you a dull discourse on 
matters that you must be very indifferent about. Well, as Fal- 
staff says of himself I may say of the Prince of Denmark, ' I have 
much more to say on behalf of that same Hamlet,' but I cannot 
help smiling as I think of the much already said. 

I grow very angry in turning to politics, and hating war as I 
do, cannot help wishing that crafty and grasping barbarian Czar 
may have his battalions pushed into the Pruth, Cronstadt and 
Odessa beaten about his ears, and some dexterous Orloff afterwards 
found to relieve mankind from his tyrannous machinations ! You 
see what a sanguinary politician I am ! I must admit a most cor- 
dial abhorrence of Bussian Czars and Czarinas, from Peter the 
Brute, inclusive, down to this worthy descendant, who regards 
himself as having a mission to stop the march of human progress ! 
Quousque tandem ? I am looking for Forster in about a month, 
though he tells me he has fallen lame again since his return from 

Lillies. 

I am ever always, dear Pollock, 

Most sincerely yours 

W, C. Macready. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 513 



CCCXIII. 

Mr. Macready explains the process Iby wliicli lie cheeked a 
tendency to redundance of action in his early days. He also 
speaks of the frequent use of looking-glasses to reflect his pos- 
tures. Madlle. Eachel's salon d' etude in Paris was fitted with 
mirrors so ingeniously arranged, both on the walls and the ceiling, 
that the effect of the merest movement of the hody and the 
smallest fold in the drapery of her garments could be observed 
by her. 

W. G. Macready to Mrs. Pollock. 



My Dear Mra. Pollock, — In a letter written to me ' on Thursday 
morning,' you make inquiry of me whether it is true that, in my 
youth, my action was redundant, and thatP took extraordinary pains 
to chasten it 1 It is rather hard to give evidence on occurrences of 
so remote a date. Indeed, I must make myself quite certain 
whether I ever knew such a period as that of youth before I can 
answer your question. Of that, however, I will not at present 
treat, but inform you that there was a time when my action was 
redundant — when I was taught to attempt to imitate in gesture 
the action I might be relating, or to figure out some idea of the 
images of my speech. How was I made sensible of this oflfence 
against good taste 1 I very soon had misgivings suggested by my 
own observation of actual life. These became confiimed by re- 
marking how sparingly, and therefore how eflfectively, Mrs. 
Siddons had recourse to gesticulation. In the beginning of one of 
the chapters of ' Peregrine Pickle ' is the description of an actor 
(who must have been Quin) in Zanga, elaborately accompanying by 
gesture the narration of Alonzo's emotions on discovering and read- 
ing a letter ; the absurdity is so apparent that I could not be blind 
to it, and applied the criticism to myself in various situations, 
which might have tempted me to something like the same extrava- 
gance. A line in the opening of one of the Cantos of Dante — I do 
not immediately remember it — made a deep impression on me in 
suggesting to me the dignity of repose ; and so a theory became 
gradually formed in my mind, which was practically demonstrated 
to me to be a correct one, when I saw Talma act, whose every 
movement was a change of subject for the sculptor's or the painter's 



514 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

study. Well, as my opinions were thns undergoing a transition, 
my practice moved in the same direction, and I adopted all the 
modes I could devise to acquire the power of exciting myself into 
the wildest emotions of passion, coercing my limbs to perfect still- 
ness. I would lie down on the floor, or stand straight against a 
wall, or get my arms within a bandage, and, so pinioned or con- 
fined, repeat the most violent passages of Othello, Lear, Hamlet, 
Macbeth, or whatever would require most energy and emotion ; I 
would speak the most passionate bursts of rage under the supposed 
constraint of whispering them in the ear of him or her to whom 
they were addressed, thus keeping both voice and gesture in subjec- 
tion to the real impulse of the feeling. — ' Such was my process.' 
Perhaps when I have the pleasure of seeing you I may make my- 
self more intelligible, if you desire further acquaintance with my 
youthful discipline. I was obliged also to have frequent recourse 
to the looking-glass, and had two or three large ones in my room 
to reflect to myself each view of the posture I might have fallen 
into, besides being under the necessity of acting the passion close to 
a glass to restrain the tendency to exaggerate its expression — which 
was the most difficult of all — to repress the ready frown, and keep 
the features, perhaps I should say the muscles of the face, undis- 
turbed, whilst intense passion would speak from the eye alone. The 
easier an actor makes his art appear, the greater must have been 
the pains it cost him. I do not think it difficult to act like Sig- 
nora Kistori ; it seems to me merely a melodramatic abandonment 
or lashing up to a certain point of excitement. It is not so good as 
Rachel, nor to be compared with such acting as that of Siddonsand 
O'Neill. But you will have cried, ' Hold, enough ! ' long since. 
Will you give my love to your husband, and ask him for me the 
name of his optical instrument maker. I want to send some ar- 
ticles to be refitted, and, from Willie's enthusiasm about his tele- 
scope, I hope I may derive some benefit from his acquaintance. I 
have a great deal to tell you, if I had time to gossip, but I am sure 
here is more than sufficient for one post. All loves from home. 
Mine to your little boys. 

Believe me 

Yours most sincerely, 

W. C. Macready. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 615 



CCCXIV. 

There is scarcely a page of tlie two volumes of tlie ^ Life and 
Correspondence of Dr. Arnold,' by Dean Stanley, wLiicli does 
not throw a beam of light on the character of one of the most 
interesting, zealous, and useful men of this century. Few are 
the instances, even in modern biographical literature, in which 
so forcible a representation of character is given by means of 
epistolary correspondence. From the abundance of his earnest- 
ness — for this is the most striking of his characteristics — we 
who had not the advantage of falling within the sphere of his 
influence, may snatch from his letters most vivid glimpses of 
his work as a church reformer, a political thinker, a scholarly 
author, a friend of the working classes, and greatest of all, as a 
schoolmaster. It is not merely within the precincts of Rugby 
School that his name is a household word. 

The Rev. Thomas Arnold, D.D., to the Rev. F. C. Blachstone. 

Rugby: September 28, 1828. 
It is, indeed, a long time since I wrote to you, and there has 
been much of intense interest in the period which has elapsed since 
I did write. But it has been quite an engrossing occupation ; and 
Thucydides and everything else has gone to sleep while I have 
been attending to it. Now it is becoming more familiar to me, but 
still the actual employment of time is very great, and the matters 
for thought which it affords are almost endless. Still I get my daily- 
exercise and bathing very happily, so that I have been, and am, 
perfectly well, and equal in strength and spirits to the work. For 
myself, I like it hitherto beyond my expectation, but, of course, 
a month is a very short time to judge from. I am trying to esta- 
blish something of a friendly intercourse with the Sixth Form, by 
asking them, in succession, in parties of four, to dinner with us, 
and I have them each separately up into my room to look over 
their exercises. I mean to bring in something like * gatherings ' 
before it is long, for they understand that I have not done with 
my alterations, nor probably ever shall have ; and I am going to 
have an examination for every form in the school, at the end of 
the short half-year, in all the business of the half-year. Divinity, 
Greek and Latin, Arithmetic, History, Geography, and Chronology, 
with first and second classes, and prize books for those who do well. 



516 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

I find that my power is perfectly absolute, so that I have no excuse 
if I do not try to make the school something like my beau ideal 
• — it is sure to fall far enough short in reality. There has been no 
flogging yet, (and I hope that there will be none,) and surprisingly 
few irregularities. I chastise, at first, by very gentle impositions, 
which are raised for a repetition of offences — flogging will be only 
my ratio ultima — and talking I shall try to the utmost. I believe 
that boys may be governed a great deal by gentle methods and 
kindness, and appealing to their better feelings, if you show that 
you are not afraid of them. I have seen great boys, six feet high, 
shed tears when I have sent for them up into my room and spoken 
to them quietly, in private, for not knowing their lesson, and I 
have found that this treatment produced its effects afterwards, in 
making them do better. But, of course, deeds must second words 
when needful, or words will soon be laughed at. 



CCCXV. 

The Bev. Thomas Arnold, D.D,, to an old pupil af Oxford. 

February 25, 1833. 
. It always grieves me to hear that a man does not like Oxford. 
T was so happy there myself, and above all, so happy in my friends, 
that its associations to my mind are purely delightful. But, of 
course, in this respect, everything depends upon the society you 
fall into. If this be uncongenial, the place can have no other at- 
tractions than those of a town full of good libraries. 

The more we are destitute of opportunities for indulging our 
feelings, as is the case when we live in uncongenial society, the 
more we are apt to crisp and harden our outward manner to save 
our real feelings from exposure. Thus I believe that some of the 
most delicate-minded men get to appear actually coarse from their 
unsuccessful efforts to mask their real nature. And I have known 
men disagreeably forward from their shyness. But I doubt whether 
a man does not suffer from a habit of self-constraint, and whether 
his feelings do not become really, as well as apparently, chilled. It 
is an immense blessing to be perfectly callous to ridicule; or, 
which comes to the same thing, to be conscious thoroughly that 
what we have in us of noble and delicate is not ridiculous to any 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 617 

but fools, and that, if fools will laugh, wise men will do well to let 
them. 

I shall really be very glad to hear from you at any time, and I 
will write to the best of my power on any subject on which you 
want to know my opinion. As for anything more, I believe that 
the one great lesson for us all is, that we should daily pray for an 
'increase of faith.' There is enough of iniquity abounding to 
make our love in danger of waxing cold ; it is well said, therefore, 
' Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe in God, believe also 
in Me.' By which I understand that it is not so much general 
notions of Providence which are our best support, but a sense of 
the personal interest, if I may so speak, taken in our welfare by 
Him who died for us and rose again. May His Spirit strengthen 
us to do His will, and to bear it, in power, in love, and in wisdom. 
God bless you. 

CCOXVI. 

This letter was written while Coleridge was staying at Fox 
How with the Doctor's family. 

The Rev. Thomas Arnold, D.D., to Mr. Justice Coleridge. 

Rugby : September 23, 1836. 

If you have the same soft air that is now breathing round us, 
and the same bright sun playing on the trees, which are full 
charged with the freshness of last night's rain, you must, I think, 
be in a condition to judge well of the beauty of Fox How. It is a 
real delight to think of you as at last arrived there, and to feel that 
the place which we so love is enjoyed by such dear friends, who 
can enjoy it fully. I congratulate you on your dehverance from 
Lancaster Castle, and by what you said in your last letter, you are 
satisfied, I imagine, with the propriety of the verdict. Now you 
can not only see the mountains afar off, but feel them in eyes, 
lungs, and mind ; and a mighty influence I think it is. I often 
used to think of the solemn comparison in the Psalm, ' the hills 
stand about Jerusalem ; even so standeth the Lord round about 
His people.' The girdling in of the mountains round the valley 
of our home is as apt an image as any earthly thing can be of the 
encircling of the everlasting arms, keeping off evil, and showering 
all good. 

But my great delight in thinking of you at Fox How is mixed 
23* 



518 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

witli no repining that I cannot be there myself. "VVe have had 
our holyday, and it was a long and most agreeable one j and Neme- 
sis might well be angry, if I was not now ready and glad to be at 
work again. Besides, I think that the School is again in a very 
hopeful state ; the set, which rather weighed us down during the last 
year, is now broken and dispersed ; and the tide is again, I trust, 
at flood, and will, I hope, go on so. You would smile to see the 
zeal with which I am trying to improve the Latin verse, and the 
difficulty which I find in doing it. But I stand in amaze at the 
utter want of poetical feeling in the minds of the majority of boys. 
They cannot in the least understand either Homer or Yirgil; 
they cannot follow out the strong graphic touches which, to an ac- 
tive mind, suggest such infinitely varied pictures, and yet leave it 
to the reader to draw them for himself on the hint given. But my 
delight in going over Homer and Virgil with the boys makes me 
think what a treat it must be to teach Shakespeare to a good class 
of young Greeks in regenerate Athens ; to dwell upon him, line by 
line, and word by word, in the way that nothing but a translation 
lesson ever will enable one to do ; and so to get all his pictures 
and thoughts leisurely into one's mind, till I verily think one 
would, after a time, almost give out light in the dark, after having 
been steeped as it were in such an atmosphere of brilliance. And 
how could this ever be done without having the process of con- 
struing, as the grosser medium, through which alone all the beauty 
can be transmitted, because else we travel too fast, and more than 
half of it escapes us ? Shakespeare, with English boys, would be 
but a poor substitute for Homer ; but I confess that I should be 
glad to get Dante and Goethe now and then in the room of some of 
the Greek tragedians and of Horace ; or rather not in their room, 
but mixed up along with them. I have been trying something of 
this in French, as I am now going through, with the Sixth Form, 
Barante's beautiful Tableau de la Litterature Fran^aise pendant le 
Dix-huitieme Siecle. 

I thought of you the other day, when one of my fellows trans- 
lated to me that splendid paragraph, comparing Voltaire to the 
Babouc of one of his own romances, for I think you first showed 
me the passage many years ago. Now, by going through Barante 
in this way, one gets it thoroughly ; and with a really good book, 
I think it is a great gain. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 519 



CCOXVII. 

Rev. Thomas Arnold, D.D., to the Rev. G. Cornish. 

Fox How : July 6, 1839. 

As I believe that the English universities are the best place in 
the world for those who can profit by them, so I think for the 
idle and self-indulgent they are about the very worst, and I would 
far rather send a boy to Yan Diemen's Land, where he must work 
for his bread, than send him to Oxford to live in luxury, without 
any desire in his mind to avail himself of his advantages. Childish- 
ness m. boys, even of good abilities, seems to me to be a growiug 
fault, and I do not know to what to ascribe it, except to the great 
number of exciting books of amusement, like Pickwick and 
Nickleby, Bentley's Magazine, &c. &c. • These completely satisfy 
all the iutellectual appetite of a boy, which is rarely very voracious, 
and leave him totally palled, not only for his regular work, wbich 
I could well excuse in comparison, but for good literature of all 
sorts, even for History and for Poetry. 

I went up to Oxford to the Commemoration, for the first time 
for twenty-one years ; to see Wordsworth and Bunsen receive their 
degrees ; and to me, remembering how old Coleridge inoculated a 
little knot of us with the love of Wordsworth, when his name was 
in general a by- word, it was striking to witness the thunders of 
applause, repeated over and over again, with which he was greeted 
in the Theatre by Undergraduates and Masters of Arts alike. 



COOXVIII. 

This letter was written from Leatherhead, and during the 
composition of ' Endymion,' to Mr. Bailey, a very sympathetic 
friend of Keats, who barely survived him. 

John Keats to W. Bailey. 

October 8, 1817. 
My dear Bailey, — I refused to visit Shelley, that I might have 
my own unfettered scope. ... As to what you say about my 
being a Poet, I can return no answer but by saying that the high 
idea I have of poetical fame makes me think I see it towering too 
high above me. At any rate I have no right to talk until 



520 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

* Endymion ' is finished. It will be a test, a trial of my powers of 
imagination, and chiefly of my invention, — which is a rare thing 
indeed — by which I must make 4000 lines of one bare circum- 
stance and fill them with poetry. And when I consider that this 
is a great task, and that when done it will take me but a dozen 
paces towards the Temple of Fame, — it makes me say — ' God 
forbid that I should be without such a task ! ' I have heard Hunt 
say, and I may be asked, ' Wliy endeavour after a long poem ? ' To 
which I should answer, * Do not the lovers of poetry like to have 
a little region to wander in, where they may pick and choose, and 
in which the images are so numerous that many are forgotten and 
found new in a second reading, — which may be food for a week's 
stroll in the summer % ' not that they like this better than what they 
can read through before Mrs. Williams comes down stairs 1 — a 
morning's work at most. . 

Besides, a long poem is a test of invention, which I take to be 
the polar star of poetry, as Fancy is the sails, and Imagination the 
rudder. Did our great poets ever write short pieces ? I mean, in 
the shape of Tales. This same invention seems indeed of late 
years to have been forgotten in a partial excellence. But enough 
of this — I put on no laurels till I have finished ' Endymion,' and 
I hope Apollo is not enraged at my having made mockery of him 
at Hunt's. 

The little mercury I have taken has corrected the poison and 
improved my health — though I feel from my employment that I 
shall never again be secure in robustness. Would that you were 
as well as 

Your sincere Friend and Brother 
John Keats. 

CCCXIX. 

Written at the most fecund rDoment of Keats' life, when he 
had just completed ' Isabella ' and ' St. Agnes' Eve/ and had laid 
* Lamia ' aside unfinished that he might give his whole strength 
to ' H}^erion.' 

John Keats to W. Reynolds. 

Winchester : August 25, 1819. 

My dear Keynolds, — By this post I write to Bice, who will 
tell you why we have left Shanklin, and how we like the place. 



ISOO] ENGLISH LETTERS, 621 

I have indeed scarcely anything else to say, leading so monotonous 
a life, unless I was to give you a histoiy of sensations and day 
nightmai-es. You would not lind me at all unhappy in it, as all 
my thoughts and feeluigs, which are of tlie sellish natui-e, home 
speculations, every day continue to make me moi-e ii-on. I am 
convinced moi-e and more, every day, that fine writing is, next to fine 
doing, the top thing in the world ; the ' Panxdise Lost ' becomes a 
gi-eater wonder. The more I know what my diligence may in 
time probiihly eflect, the more does my heai't distend with pride 
and obstinacy. I feel it in my power to become a popular 'v\i'iter. 
I feel it in my power to refuse the poisonous sufirage of a public. 
My own being, which I know to be, becomes of more consequence 
to me than the crowds of shadows in the shape of men and 
women that inhabit a kingdom. The soul is a world of itself, and 
has enough to do in its own home. Those whom I know ali*eady 
and who have gi-own as it were a part of myself, I could not do 
without ; but for the i*est of mankind, they ai*e as much a di*eam 
to me as IMil ton's ' Hierarchies.' I think if I had a fi-ee and 
healthy and lasting organisjition of heart, and lungs as sti'ong as 
an ox so as to be able to bear imhurt the sliock of extreme thought 
and sensation without we^iriness, I could pass my life very nearly 
alone, though it should last eighty years. But I feel my body too 
weak to support me to this height ; I am obliged continually to 
check mj^elf, and be notliing. 

It would be vjiin for me to endeavour after a more reasonable 
manner of writing to you. I have notliing to speak of but my- 
self, and what can I Sixy but what I fwl 1 If you should have any 
I'eason to regi'et this state of excitement in me, I will turn tlie 
tide of yoiu* feelings in the right channel, by mentioning that it 
is the only state for the best sort of poetry — that is all I care for, 
all I live for. Foi-give me for not filling up the whole sheet; 
lettei*s become so irksome to me, that the next time I leave London 
I shall petition them all to be spai*ed me. To give me credit for 
constancy, and at the same time waive letter- writing, will be the 
highest indulgence I can think of. 

Ever your aflectionate Friend, 

John Keats. 



522 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 



ccoxx. 

Daring tlie very last days of liis health, Hood was induced 
to march across Germany with the lOth Polish Infantry, a 
regiment in which his friend Franck was an officer. He wrote, 
' I pass for very hardy, if not foolhardy, I slight the cold so,' and 
it is to be feared that exposure during this voluntary campaign 
commenced his fatal illness. This letter was sent from Halle to 
his child, who was then residing with her mother at Ooblenz. 

Thomas Hood to his Daughter. 

Halle : October 23, 1837. 

My dear Fanny, — I hope ycu are as good still as when I went 
away — a comfort to your good mother and a kind playfellow to 
your little brother. Mind you tell him my horse eats bread out of 
my hand, and walks up to the officers who are eating, and pokes 
his nose into the women's baskets. I wish T could give you both 
a ride. I hope you liked your paints ; pray keep them out of 
Tom's way, as they are poisonous. I shall have rare stories to tell 
you when I come home j but mind, you must be good till then, or 
I shall be as mute as a stockfish. Your mama will show you on 
the map where I was when I wrote this ; and when she writes 
will let you put in a word. You would have laughed to see your 
friend Wildegans running after the sausage boy to buy a ' wilrst.^ 
There was hardly ^n officer without one in his hand smoking hot. 
The men piled their guns on the grass, and sat by the side of the 
road, all munching at once like ogres. I had a pocket full of bread 
and butter, which soon went into my * cavities,' as Mrs. Dilke calls 
them. I only hope I shall not get so hungry as to eat my horsa. 
I know I need not say, keep school and mind your book, as you 
love to learn, y You can have Minna sometimes, her papa says. 

Now God bless you, my dear little girl, my pet, and think of 

your 

Loving Father < 

Thomas Hood. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 523 



CCCXXI. 

This is a fair example of the every-day correspondence of 
that creature of infinite jest whose life had already become one 
long and brave struggle against diseases. Under the name of 
Peter Priggins is disguised Mr. J. T. Hewlett, one of the chief 
contributors to * Hood's Magazine.' 

Thomas Hood to Charles Dickens. 

My Dear Dickens, — Only thinking of the pleasure of seeing 
you again, with Mrs. Dickens, on Tuesday or Wednesday, I never 
remembered, till I got home to my wife, who is also my flapper 
(not a young wild duck, but a Pemembrancer of Laputa), that I 
have been booked to shoot some rabbits — if I can — at Wantage, 
in Berks, a reverend friend called ' Peter Priggins,' will be waiting 
for me, by appointment, at his railway-station on Tuesday. But 
I must and can only be three or four days absent ; after which, the 
sooner we have the pleasure of seeing you the better for us. Mrs. 
Hood thinks there ought to be a ladies' dinner to Mrs. Dickens. 
I think she wants to go to Greenwich, seeing how much good it 
has done me, for I went really ill, and came home well. So that 
occasionally the diet of Gargantua seems to suit me better than 
that of Panta-^?'WfZ. Well, — adieu for the present. Live, fatten, 
prosper, write, and draw the mopuses wholesale through Chapman 
and Haul, 

Yours ever truly 

Thomas Hood. 



CCCXXH. 

No one ever wrote brighter or prettier letters to children 
than Hood. He knew how to restrain the quick march of his 
wit until their small footsteps could keep pace with it, and 
then would follow a revel of innocent drollery. This note was 
addressed to the little daughter of his friend JDr. Elliot. 

Thomas Hood to May Elliot. 

Monday, April 1844. 
My dear May, — I promised you a letter, and here it is. I was 
sure to remember it ; for you are as hard to forget, as you are soft 



524 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1700- 

to roll down a hill with. What fun it was ! only so prickly, I 
thought I had a porcupine in one pocket, and a hedgehog in the 
other. The next time, before we kiss the earth we will have its 
face well shaved. 

Did you ever go to Greenwich Fair 1 I should like to go there 
with you, for I get no rolling at St. John's Wood. Tom and 
Fanny only like roll and butter, and as for Mrs. Hood, she is for 
rolling in money. 

Tell Dunnie that Tom has set his trap in the balcony and has 
caught a cold, and tell Jeanie that Fanny has set her foot in the 
garden, but it has not come up yet. Oh, how I wish it was the 
season when ' March winds and April showers bring forth May 
flowers ! ' for then of course you would give me another pretty 
little nosegay. Besides it is frosty and foggy weather, which I 
do not like. The other night when I came from Stratford, the 
cold shrivelled me up so, that when I got home, I thought I was 
my own child ! 

However, I hope we shall all have a merry Christmas ; I mean 
to come in my ticklesome waistcoat, and to laugh till I grow fat, 
or at least streaky. Fanny is to be allowed a glass of wine, Tom's 
mouth is to have a hole holiday, and Mrs. Hood is to sit up to 
supper ? There will be doings ! And then such good things to 
eat; but, pray, pray, pray, mind they don't boil the baby by 
mistake for the plump pudding, instead of a plum one. 

Give my love to everybody, from yourself down to Willy, 
■witb which and a kiss, I remain, up hill and down dale, 

Your affectionate lover 

Thomas Hood. 



cccxxm. 

The last letter, written by this great poet and good man, was 
addressed to Sir Kobert Peel in gratitude for the transfer of a 
pension of 100^. a year from his to Mrs. Hood's name, and in 
order thoroughly to appreciate the sentiment of this letter 
we should compare it with that last poem of his composed 
about the same time, in which he took farewell of life. Happy 
in being able to ' smell the rose above the mould,' he could 
smile at being so near death's door, that, as he said, he could 
almost fancy he heard the creaking of the hinges. 



1800] ENGLISH LETTERS. 625 



Thomas Hood to Sir Rohert Peel, 

1845. 

Dear Sir, — "We are not to meet in the flesh. Given over by my 
physicians and myself, I am only kept alive by frequent instalments 
of mulled port wine. In this extremity I feel a comfort, for 
which I cannot refrain from again thanking you, with all the 
sincerity of a dying man, — and, at the same time, bidding you a 
respectful farewell. 

Thank God my mind is composed and my reason undisturbed, 
but my race as an author is run. My physical debility finds no 
tonic virtue in a steel pen, otherwise I would have written one more 
paper — a forewarning one — against an evil, or the danger of it, 
arising from a literary movement in which I have had some share, 
a one-sided humanity, opposite to that Catholic Shaksperian sym- 
pathy, which felt with King as well as Peasant, and duly estimated 
the mortal temptations of both stations. Certain classes at the 
poles of society are already too far asunder ; it should be the duty 
of our writers to draw them nearer by kindly attraction, not to 
aggravate the existing repulsion, and place a wider moral gulf 
between Rich and Poor, with Hate on the one side and Fear on the 
other. But I am too weak for this task, the last I had set myself ; 
it is death that stops my pen, you see, and not the pension. 

God bless you, sir, and prosper all your measures for the benefit 
of my beloved country. 

I have the honour to be. Sir, 
Your most grateful and obedient servant, 

Thos. Hood. 



SECTION lY. 

A.D. 1800- 



ccoxxiy. 

Tlie following seven letters, the first of wliicli Wcis -vvritten 
at the age of fourteen, are considered to be very characteristic 
of Lord Macaulay. They are published in this collection by 
the kind permission of Mr. G. Otto Trevelyan. 

Thomas Bahington Macaulay to his Mother. 

Shelford: April 11, 1814. 

My dear Mamma, — The news is glorions indeed. Peace ! 
peace with a Bourbon, with a descendant of Henri Qiiatre, with 
a prince who is bound to us by all the ties of gratitude ! I have 
some hopes that it will be a lasting peace, for the troubles of the 
last twenty years will make kings and nations wiser. I cannot con- 
ceive a greater punishment to Buonaparte than that which the allies 
have inflicted on him. How can his ambitious mind support it ? 
All his great projects and schemes, which once made every throne 
in Europe tremble are buried in the solitude of an Italian isle. 
How miraculously everything has been conducted ! We almost 
seem to hear the Almighty saying to the fallen tyrant, * For this 
cause have I raised thee up that I might show in thee My power.' 

As I am in very great haste with this letter I shall have but 
little time to write. I am sorry to hear that some nameless friend 
of Papa's denounced my voice as remarkably loud. I have 
accordingly resolved to speak in a moderate key except on the 
undermentioned special occasions. Imprimis, when I am speaking 
at the same time with three others. Secondly, when I am praising 
the ' Christian Observer.' Thirdly, when I am praising Mr. Preston 
or his sisters, I may be allowed to speak in my loudest voice, that 
they may hear me. 

I saw to-day the greatest of churchmen, that pillar of Ortho- 
doxy, that true friend to the Liturgy, that mortal enemy to the 
Bible Society, — Herbert Marsh, D.D., Professor of Divinity on 
Lady Margaret's foundation. I stood looking at him for about 
ten minutes, and shall always continue to maintain that he is a 



530 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

veiy ill-favoured gentleman as far as outward appearance is 
concerned. I am going this week to Sjoend a day or two at Dean 
Milner's, where I hope, nothing unforeseen preventing, to see you 
in about two months' time. 

Ever your affectionate Son, 

T. B. Macaulay. 



CCOXKV. 

In this, and in the following letter, Macaulay is recording 
Lis early impressions of the Eev. Sydney Smith. 

Thomas Bahington Macaulay to his Father. 

York: July 21, 1826 

My dear Father, — The other day as I was changing my neck- 
cloth which my wig had disfigured, my good landlady knocked at 
the door of my bedroom, and told me that Mr. Smith wished to 
see me and was in my room below. Of all names by which men 
are called there is none which conveys a less determinate idea to 
the mind than that of Smith. Was he on the circuit 1 For I do 
not know half the names of my companions. Was he a special 
messenger from London 1 Was he a York attorney coming to be 
preyed upon, or a beggar coming to prey upon me, a barber to 
solicit the dressing of my wig, or a collector for the Jews' 
Society 1 

Down I went, and to my utter amazement beheld the Smith 
of Smiths, Sydney Smith, alias Peter Plymley. I had forgotten 
his very existence till I discerned the queer contrast between his 
black coat and his snow-white head, and the equally curious 
contrast between the clerical amplitude of his person and the most 
unclerical wit, whim and petulance of his eye. 

I shook hands with him very heartily ; and on the Catholic 
question we immediately fell, regretted Evans, triumphed over Lord 
George Beresford, and abused the Bishops.^ He then very kindly 
urged me to spend the time between the close of the Assizes and 
the commencement of the Sessions at his house ; and was so 
hospitably pressing that I at last agreed to go thither on Saturday 
afternoon. He is to drive me over again into York on Monday 

' Reference is here made to a recent general election. 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS, 531 

morning. I am very well pleased at having this opportmiity of 
becoming better acquainted with a man who, in spite of innu- 
merable affectations and oddities, is certainly one of the wittiest 
and most original writers of oui- time. 

Ever yours affectionately, 

T. B. M. 



CCCXXVI. 

Thomas Bahington Macaulay to his Father. 

Bradford: July 26, 1826. 

My dear Father, — On Saturday I went to Sydney Smith's. 
His parish lies three or four miles out of any frequented road. 
He is, however, most pleasantly situated. 'Fifteen years ago,* 
said he to me as I alighted at the gate of his shrubbery, ' I was 
taken up in Piccadilly and set down here. There was no house 
and no garden ; nothing but a bare field.' 

One service this eccentric divine has certainly rendered to the 
Church. He has built the very neatest, most commodious, and 
most appropriate rectory that I ever saw. All its decorations are 
in a peculiarly clerical style, grave, simple, and gothic. The bed- 
chambers are excellent, and excellently fitted up; the sitting- 
rooms handsome ; and the grounds sufficiently pretty. Tindal and 
Parke (not the judge of course,) two of the best lawyers, best 
scholars, and best men in England, were there. We passed an 
extremely pleasant evening, and had a very good dinner, and many 
amusing anecdotes. After breakfast the next morning I walked 
to church with Sydney Smith. The edifice is not at all in keeping 
with the rectory. It is a miserable little hovel with a wooden 
belfry. It was, however, well filled, and mth decent people, who 
seemed to take very much to their pastor. I understand that he 
is a very respectable apothecary ; and most liberal of his skill, his 
medicine, his soup and his wine, among the sick. He preached a 
very queer sermon — the former half too familiar and the latter half 
too florid, but not without some ingenuity of thought and expres- 
sion. 

Sydney Smith brought me to York on Monday morning in 
time for the stage-coach which runs to Skipton. We parted with 
many assurances of good will. I have really taken a great liking 



5;}2 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

to him. He is full of wit, humour, and shrewdness. He is not 
one of those show talkers who reserve all their good things for 
special occasions. It seems to be his greatest luxury to keep his 
wife and daughter laughing two or three hours every day. His 
notions of law, government, and trade are surprisingly clear and 
just. His misfortune is to have chosen a profession at once above 
him and below him. Zeal would have made him a prodigy; 
formality and bigotry would have made him a bishop; but he 
could neither rise to the duties of his order, nor stoop to its degra- 
dations. 

He praised my articles in the Edinburgh Keview with a warmth 
which I am willing to believe sincere, because he qualified his com- 
pliments with several very sensible cautions. My great danger, 
he said, was that of taking a tone of too much asperity and con- 
tempt in controversy. I believe that he is right, and I shall try to 
mend. 

Ever affectionately yours, 
T. B. M. 

CCCXXVII. 

Macau! ay's extraordinary power of work is scarcely more 
than hinted at in this particiilar letter. Other letters written 
about the same time to the same friend contain prodigious lists 
of classical works that had been read with care ; so carefully 
that, as Mr. Trevelyan assures us, every volume and sometimes 
every page is interspersed with critical remarks — literary, 
historical, and grammatical. This was accomplished in the 
midst of official duties almost too arduous to admit of that 
repose and leisure indispensable to ordinary men; and at a 
time when the writer was being scurrilously assniled in the 
Indian Press for his activity in promoting the Black Act, by 
which all civil appeals of certain British residents were to be 
tried by the Sudder Court instead of the Supreme Court at 
Calcutta. 

Thomas Bahington Macaulay to Thomas Flower Ellis. 

Calcutta : May 30, 1836. 
Dear Ellis, — I have just received your letter dated Dec. 28. 
How time flies ! Another hot season has almost passed away, 
and we are daily expecting the beginning of the rains. Cold 
season, hot season, and rainy season are all much the same to me. 
I shall have been two years ou Indian ground in less than a fort- 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 5I53 

night, and I have not taken ten grains of solid, or a pint of liquid 
medicine during the whole of that time. 

If I judged only from my ot\ti sensations I should say that this 
climate is absurdly maligned : but the yellow, spectral figures 
which surround me seem to correct the conclusions which I should 
be inclined to draw from the state of my own health. 

One execrable eflfect the climate produces. It destroys all the 
works of man with scarcely one exception. Steel rusts ; razors lose 
-their edge; thread decays; clothes fall to pieces ; books moulder 
away and drop out of their bindings ; plaster cracks ; timber rots ; 
matting is in shreds. The sun, the steam of this vast alluvial 
tract, and the infinite armies of white ants, make such havoc with 
buildirgs that a house requires a complete repair every three years. 
Ours was in this situation about three months ago ; and if we had 
determined to brave the rains without any precautions we should 
in all probability have had the roof down on our heads. Accord- 
ingly we were forced to migrate for six weeks from our stately 
apartments, and our flower beds, to a dungeon wh^re we were stifled 
with the stench of native cookery, and deafened by the noise of 
native music. At last we have returned to our house. We found 
it all snow-white and pea-green ; and we rejoice to think that we 
shall not again be under the necessity of quitting it till we quit it 
for a ship bound on a voyage to London. 

We have been for some months in the middle of what the 
people here think a political storm. To a person accustomed to 
the hurricanes of English faction this sort of tempest in a horse- 
pond is merely ridiculous. We have put the English settlers up 
the country under the exclusive jurisdiction of the Company's 
courts in civil actions in which they are concerned with natives. 
The English settlers are perfectly contented ; but the lawyers of the 
Supreme Coiu-t have set up a yelp which they think terrible, but 
which has infinitely diverted me. They have selected me as the 
object of their invectives, and I am generally the theme of five or 
six columns of prose and verse daily. I have not patience to read 
a tenth part of what they put forth. The last ode in my praise 
which I perused began 

Soon we hope they will recall ye, 
Tom Macaulay, Tom Macaulay. 
24 



534 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

The last prose which I read was a parallel between me and 
Lord Strafiford. 

My mornings, from five to nine, are quite my own. I still give 
them to ancient literature. I have read Aristophanes twice through 
since Christmas ; and have also read Herodotus, and Thucydides, 
again. I got into a way last year of reading a Greek play every 
Sunday. I began on Sunday the 18th of October with the Prome- 
theus, and next Sunday I shall finish with the Cyclops of Euripides. 
Euripides has made a complete conquest of me. It has been un- 
fortunate for him that we have so many of his pieces. It has, on 
the other hand, I suspect, been fortunate for Sophocles that so 
few of his have come down to us. Almost every play of 
Sophocles, which is now extant, was one of his masterpieces. 
There is hardly one of them which is not mentioned with 
high praise by some ancient writer. Yet one of them, the 
Trachinise, is to my thinking, very poor and insipid. Now, if 
we had nineteen plays of Sophocles, of wliich twelve or thirteen 
should be no better than the Trachinise — and if, on the other 
hand, only seven pieces of Euripides had come down to us, and if 
those seven had been the Medea, the Bacchse, Iphigenia in 
Aulis, the Orestes, the Phoenissse, the Hippolytus, and the Alcestis, 
— I am not sure that the relative position which the two poets now 
hold in our estimation would not be greatly altered. 

I have not done much in Latin. I have been employed in 
turning over several third-rate and fourth-rate writers. After 
finishing Cicero, I read through the works of both the Senecas, 
father and son. There is a great deal in the Controversise both 
of curious information, and judicious criticism. As to the son, I 
cannot bear him. His style affects me in something the same way 
as that of Gibbon. But Lucius Seneca's affectation is even more 
rank than Gibbon's. His works are made up of mottoes. There 
is hardly a sentence which might not be quoted; but to read him 
straightforward is like dining on nothing but anchovy sauce. I 
have read, as one does read such stuff, Valerius Maximus, Annaeus 
Elorus, Lucius Ampelius, and Aurelius Victor. I have also gone 
through Phsedrus. I am now better employed. I am deep in the 
Annals of Tacitus, and I am at the same time reading Suetonius. 

You are so rich in domestic comforts that I am inclined to envy 
you. I am not, however^ v,?-ithout my share. I am as fond of my 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS, 535 

little niece as her father. I pass an hour or more every day in 
nursing her, and teaching her to talk. She has got as far as Ba, 
Pa, Ma ; which as she is not eight months old, we consider as proofs 
of a genius little inferior to that of Shakespeare or Sir Isaac Newton. 
The municipal elections have put me in good spirits as to 
English politics. I was rather inclined to despondency. 

Ever yours affectionately, 

T. B. Macaulay. 

CCCXXVIII. 

The 'Eastern Questiou ' was almost as complicated in the 
year 1840 as it is to-day. The rebellion of the Sultan's vassals 
in Egypt had spread into the heart of the Ottoman Empire, and 
there was every indication that Syria would soon fall an easy 
prey to France, and Constantinople to Russia. 

England, however, boldly adhered to her traditional policy 
of maintaining the independence of Turkey ; and it is interest- 
ing to read the opinion of our great Whig historian of the 
diplomatic negotiations conducted by Lord Palmerston with 
his usual vigour and fearlessness. 

Thomas Bahington Macaulay to Macvey Nainer. 

Eondon : December 8, 1840. 

Dear Napier, — I shall work at my article on Leigh Hunt 
whenever I have a leisure hour, and shall try to make it amusing 
to lovers of literary gossip. I will not plague you with my argu- 
m^ents about the Eastern Question. My own opinion has long 
been made up. Unless England meant to permit a virtual parti- 
tion of the Ottoman Empire between France and Russia, she had 
no choice but to act as she has acted. Had the treaty of July not 
been signed, Nicholas would have been really master of Constanti- 
nople, and Thiers of Alexandria. The Treaty once made, I never 
would have consented to flinch from it, whatever had been the 
danger. I am satisfied that the War party in France is insatiable 
and unappeasable \ that concessions would only have strengthened 
and emboldened it ; and that after stooping to the lowest humilia- 
tions, we should soon have had to fight without allies, and at every 
disadvantage. The policy which has been followed I believe to be 
not only a just and honourable, but eminently a pacific policy. 

Whether the peace of the world will long be preserved I do 
not pretend to say ; but I firmly hold that the best chance of pre- 



536 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

serving it was to make the Treaty of July, and, having made it, to 
execute it resolutely. JFor my own part I will tell you plainly 
that, if the course of events had driven Palmerston to resign, I 
would have resigned with him, though I had stood alone. Look 
at what the late Ministers of Louis Philippe have avowed with 
respect to the Balearic Isles. Were such designs ever proclaimed 
before, except in a crew of pirates, or a den of robbers % Look at 
Barrot's speeches about England. Is it for the sake of such friend- 
ships as this that our country is to abdicate her rank, and sink 
into a dependency '? I like war quite as little as Sir William 
Molesworth or Mr. Fonblanque. It is foolish and wicked to 
bellow for war, merely for war's sake, like the rump of the Moun- 
tain at Paris. I would never make offensive war. I would never 
offer to any other power a provocation which might be a fair 
ground for war. But I never would abstain from doing what I 
had clear right to do, because a neighbour chooses to threaten me 
with an unjust war; first, because I believe that such a policy 
would, in the end, inevitably produce war ; and secondly because 
I think war, though a very great evil, by no means so great an 
evil as subjugation and national humiliation. 

In the present case, I think the course taken by the Govern- 
ment unexceptionable. If Guizot prevails, — that is to say, if 
reason, justice, and public law prevail, — we shall have no war. 

If the writers of the National, and the singers of the Marseil- 
laise prevail, we can have no peace. At whatever cost, at what- 
ever risk, these banditti must be put down ; or they will put down 
all commerce, civilization, order, and the independence of nations. 

Of course what I write to you is confidential; not that I 
should hesitate to proclaim the substance of what I have said on 
the hustings, or in the House of Commons ; but because I do not 
measure my words in pouring myself out to a friend. But I have 
run on too long, and should have done better to have given the 
last half-hour to Wycherley. 

Ever yours, 

T. B. Macaulay. 



18771 ENGLISH LETTERS. 637 



CCOXXIX. 

Mr. Macvey Napier, in his capacity of Editor of the ^ Edin- 
burgh Review/ had unintentionally wounded Leigh Hunt's 
feelings by requesting him to contribute a 'gentlemanlike' 
article. The result of the following mediatory letter was a 
generous and amiable communication from Xapier to Leigh 
Hunt which more than satisfied him. 

Thomas Babington Macaulay to Macvay Xapier, 

Albany, London : October 30, 1841. 

Dear Xapier, — I have received your lett€r and am truly glad 
you are satisfied with the efiect of my article. As to the prelimi- 
nary part of the matter, I am satisfied, and more than satisfied. 
Indeed, as you well know, money has never been my chief object 
in writing. It was not so even when I was poor; and at present 
I consider myself as one of the richest men of my acquaintance ; 
for I can well afford to spend a thousand a year, and I can enjoy 
every comfort on eight hundred. I own, however, that your 
supply comes agreeably enough to assist me in furnishing my 
rooms, which I have made, unless I am mistaken, into a very 
pleasant student's cell. And now a few words about Leigh Hunt. 
He wrote to me yesterday in great distress, and enclosed a letter 
which he had received from you, and which had much agitated 
him. In truth, he misunderstood you; and you had used an 
expression which was open to some misconstruction. 

You told him that you should be glad to have a " gentleman- 
like " article from him, and Hunt took this for a reflection on his 
birth. He implored me to tell him candidly whether he had 
given you any offence, and to advise him as to his course. I 
repHed that he had utterly misunderstood you ; that I was sure 
you meant merely a literary criticism ; that your taste in compo- 
sition was more severe than his, more indeed than mine ; that you 
were less tolerant than myself of little mannerisms springing from 
peculiarities of temper and training ; that his style seemed to you 
too colloquial ; that I myself thought he was in danger of excess 
in that direction ; and that, when you received a letter from him 
promising a very " chatty " article, I was not surprised that you 
should caution him against his besetting sin. I said that I was 



538 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

sure that you wished him well, and would be glad of his assist- 
ance ; but that he could not expect a person in your situation to 
pick his words very nicely; that you had during many years 
superintended great literary undertakings; that you had been 
under the necessity of collecting contributions from great numbers 
of writers, and that you were responsible to the public for the 
whole. Your credit was so deeply concerned that you must be 
allowed to speak plainly. I knew that you had spoken to men of 
the first consideration quite as plainly as to him. I knew that 
you had refused to insert passages written by so great a man as 
Lord Brougham. I knew that you had not scrupled to hack and 
hew articles on foreign politics which had been concocted in the 
Hotels of ambassadors, and had received the imprimatm' of Secre- 
taries of State. I said that, therefore, he must, as a man of sense, 
suffer you to tell him what you might think, whether rightly or 
wrongly, to be the faults of his style. As to the sense which he 
had put on one or two of your expressions, I took it on myself, as 
your friend, to affirm that he had mistaken their meaning, and 
that you would never have used those words if you had foreseen 
that they would have been so understood. Between ourselves, the 
word "gentlemanlike" was used in rather a harsh way. Now I 
have told you what has passed between him and me; and I leave 
you to act as you think fit. I am sure that you will act properly 
and humanely. But I must add that I think you are too hard on 
his article. As to the Yicar of Wakefield,^ the correction must 
be deferred, I think, till the appearance of the next number. I 
am utterly unable to conceive how I can have committed such a 
blander, and failed to notice it in the proofs. 

Ever yours, 

T. B. Macaulay. 



' Alluding to an unfortunate mistake in a recent article in the 
* Edinburgh Review,' which arose from the substitution of the * Vicar of 
Wakefield ' for ' History of Greece,' thereby pronouncing the former work 
to be a bad one. 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 539 



cccxxx. 

In tbis most interesting letter Macaulay is his own apologist 
for the tone and diction of what he humbly designates as his 
little historical essays. 

Thomas Bahington Macaulay to Macvey Napier. 

Albany, London : April 18, 1842. 

Dear Napier, — I am much obliged to you for your criticisms 
on my article on Frederic. My coi:>y of the Keview I have lent, 
and cannot therefore refer to it. I have, however, thought over 
what you say, and should be disposed to admit part of it to be 
just. But I have several distinctions and limitations to suggest. 

The charge to which I am most sensible is that of interlarding 
my sentences with French terms. I will not positively affirm 
that no such expression may have dropped from my pen in writing 
hurriedly on a subject so very French. It is, how^ever, a practice 
to which I am extremely averse, and into which I could fall only 
by inadvertence. I do not really know to what you allude ; for 
as to the words ' Abbe ' and * Parc-aux-Cerfs,' which I recollect, 
those surely are not open to objection. I remember that I carried 
my love of English in one or two places almost to the length of 
affectation. For example, I called the ' Place des Victoires,' the 

* Place of Victories ' ; and the ' Fermier General ' D'Etioles, a pub- 
lican. I will look over the article again, and try to discover to 
what you allude. The other charge, I confess, does not appear to 
me to be equally serious. I certainly should not, in regular 
history, use some of the phrases which you censure. But I do not 
consider a review of this sort as regular history, and I really think 
that from the highest and most unquestionable authority, I could 
vindicate my practice. 

Take Addison, the model of pure and graceful writing. In his 
Spectators I find * wench,' ' baggage,' ' queer old put,' * prig,' 

* fearing that they should smoke the knight.' All these expres- 
sions I met this morning, in turning over two or three of his 
papers at breakfast. I would no more use the word * bore ' or 

* awkward squad ' in a composition meant to be uniformly serious 
and earnest, than Addison would in a State Paper have called 



640 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

Louis an ' old put,' or have described Shrewsbury and Argyle as 
* smoking the design to bring in the Pretender.' 

But I did not mean my article to be uniformly serious and 
earnest. If you judge of it as you would judge a regular history, 
your censure ought to go very much deeper Ihan it does, and to be 
directed against the substance as well as against the diction. 

The tone of many passages, nay of whole pages, would justly 
be called flippant in a regular history. But I conceive that this 
sort of composition has its own character, and its own laws. 

I do not claim the honour of having invented it ; that praise 
belongs to Southey; but I must say that in some points I have 
improved upon his design. The manner of these little historical 
essays bears, I think, the same analogy to the manner of Tacitus 
or Gibbon which the manner of Ariosto bears to the manner of 
Tasso, or the manner of Shakespeare's historical plays to the 
manner of Sophocles. 

Ariosto when he is grave and pathetic, is as grave and pathetic 
as Tasso; but he often takes a light fleeting tone which suits him 
admirably, but which in Tasso would be quite out of place. The 
despair of Constance in Shakespeare is as lofty as that' of QEdipus 
in Sophocles ; but the levities of the bastard Faulconbridge would 
be utterly out of place in Sophocles. Yet we feel that they are 
not out of place in Shakespeare. 

So with these historical articles. Where the subject requires 
it, they may rise, if the author can manage it, to the highest alti- 
tudes of Thucydides. Then, again, they may without impropriety, 
sink to the levity and colloquial ease of Horace Walpole's Letters. 
This is my theory. Whether I have succeeded in the execution is 
quite another question. You will, however, perceive that I am in 
no danger of taking similar liberties in my history. 

I do, indeed, greatly disapprove of those notions which some 
writers have of the dignity of History. For fear of alluding to 
the vulgar concerns of private life, they take no notice of the cir- 
cumstances which deeply afiect the happiness of nations. But I 
never thought of denying that the language of history ought to 
preserve a certain dignity. I would, however, no more attempt to 
l^reserve that dignity in a paper like this on I'rederic than I would 
exclude from such a poem as ' Don Juan ' slang terms, because 
such terms would be out of place in ' Paradise Lost,' or Hudi- 



1877] IHNGLISK LETTERS, 511 

brastic rhymes, because such rhymes would be shocking in Pope's 
Iliad. 

As to the particular criticisms which you have made, I will- 
ingly submit my judgment to yours, though I think I could say 
something on the other side. The first rule of all writing — that 
rule to which every other is subordinate — is that the words used 
by the writer shall be such as most fully and precisely convey his 
meaning to the great body of his readers. All considerations about 
the dignity and purity of style ought to bend to this consideration. 
To write what is not understood in its whole force for fear of using 
some word which was unknown to Swift or Dryden, would be, I 
think, as absurd as to build an Observatory like that at Oxford, 
from which it is impossible to observe, only for the purpose of 
exactly preserving the proportions of the Temple of the Winds at 
Athens. That a word which is appropi'iate to a particular idea, 
which everybody high and low uses to express that idea, and which 
expresses that idea with a completeness which is not equalled by 
any other single word, and scarcely by any circumlocution, should 
be banished from writing, seems to be a mere throwing away of 
power. Such a word as ' talented ' it is proper to avoid ; first, be- 
cause it is not wanted ; secondly, because you never have it from 
those who speak very good English. But the word ' shii-k ' as 
applied to military duty is a word which everybody uses ; which 
is the word, and the only word for the thing ; which in every 
regiment, and in every ship, belonging to our country is employed 
ten times a day; which the Duke of Wellington, or Admiral 
Stopford, would use in reprimanding an officer. To interdict it, 
therefore, in what is meant to be familiar, and almost jocose, nar- 
rative seems to me rather rigid. But I will not go on. I will 
only repeat that I am truly grateful for your advice, and that if 
you will, on future occasions, mark with an asterisk any words in 
my proof sheets which you think open to objection, I will try to 
meet your wishes, though it may sometimes be at the expense of 
my own. 

Ever yours most truly, 

T. B. Macaulay. 

24* 



642 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 



CCCXXXI. 

This remarkable letter, written by tbe historian of tbe Great 
Peace (1800-1815), to an Anti-Slavery friend in America, will be 
read with as much interest to-day as it was when republished in 
England a quarter of a century ago, after the outbreak of the 
Crimean War. 

Harriet Martineau to a Friend in America. 

October 1, 1849. 

My dear . . . , — "We can think of little else at present than 
of that which should draw you and us into closer sympathy than 
even that which has so long existed between us. "VVe, on our side 
the water, have watched with keen interest the progress of your 
War of Opinion, — the spread of the great controversy which can- 
not but revolutionise your social principles and renovate your social 
morals. For fifteen years past, we have seen that you are ' in for 
it,' and that you must stand firm amidst the subversion of Ideas, 
Customs, and Institutions, till you find yourselves encompassed by 
* the new heavens and the new earth ' of which you have the sure 
promise and foresight. 

We, — the whole population of Europe, — are now evidently 
entering upon a stage of conflict no less important in its issues, and 
probably more painful in its course. You remember how soon 
after the conclusion of the Napoleonic wars our gi-eat Peace Minis- 
ter, Canning, intimated the advent, sooner or later, of a War of 
Opinion in Europe ; a war of deeper significance than Napoleon 
could conceive of, and of a wider spread than the most mischievous 
of his quai'rels. The War of Opinion which Canning foresaw was 
in fact a war between the further and nearer centuries, — between 
Asia and Europe — between despotism and self-government. The 
preparations were begun long ago. The Barons of Punnymede 
beat up for recruits when they hailed the signature of Magna 
Charta, and the princes of York and Lancaster did their best to 
clear the field for us, and those who are to come after us. The 
Italian Pepublics wrought well for us, and so did the French 
Pevolutions, one after the other, as hints and warnings ; and so 
did the voyage of your Mayflower — and the Swiss League, and 
German Zollverein, and in short everything that has happened for 



1877J ENGLISH LETTERS. 543 

several hundreds of years. Everything lias tended to bring our 
continent and its resident nations to the knowledge that the first 
principles of social liberty have now to be asserted and contended 
for, and to prepare the assertors for the greatest conflict that the 
human race has yet witnessed. It is my belief that the war has 
actually begun, and that, though there may be occasional lulls, no 
man now living will see the end of it. 

Russia is more Asiatic than European. It is obscure to us 
who live nearest to her where her power resides. We know only 
that it is not with the Emperor, nor yet with the people. The 
Emperor is evidently a mere show, — being nothing except while he 
fulfils the policy or pleasure of the unnamed power which we can- 
not discern. But, though the ruling power is obscure, the policy 
is clear enough. The aim is to maintain and extend despotism ; 
and the means chosen are the repression of mind, the corruption of 
conscience, and the reduction of the whole composite population of 
Kussia to a brute machine. Eor a gi'eat lapse of time, no quarter 
of a century has passed without some country and nation having 
fallen in, and become a compartment of the great machine ; and, 
the fact being so, the most peace-loving of us can hardly be sorry 
that the time has come for deciding whether this is to go on, — 
whether the Asiatic principle and method of social life are to domi- 
nate or succumb. The struggle will be no contemptible one. The 
great tarantula has its spiderclaws out and fixed at inconceivable 
distances. The people of Kussia, wretched at home, are better 
qualified for foreign aggression than for any thing else. 

And if, within her own empire, Eussia knows all to be loose 
and precarious, poor and unsound, and with none but a military 
organisation, she knows that she has for allies, avowed or concealed, 
all the despotic tempers that exist among men. Not only such 
governments as those of Spain, Portugal, Rome and Austria, are in 
reality the allies of Eastern barbarism ; but all aristocracies, all 
self-seekers, be they who and where they may. It is a significant 
sign of the times that territorial alliances are giving way before 
political afiinities, the mechanical before the essential union; and, 
if Russia has not for allies the nations that live near her frontier, 
she has those men of every nation who prefer self-will to freedom. 

This corrupted * patriarchal ' system of society (but little su- 
perior to that which exists in your slave States) occupies one-half 



544 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

of the great battle-field where the hosts are gathering for the fight. 
On the other, the forces are ill-assorted, ill-organised, too little pre- 
pared ; but still, as having the better cause, sure, I trust, of final 
victory. The conflict must be long, because our constitutions are, 
like yours, compromises, our governments as yet a mere patch- 
work, our popular liberties scanty and adulterated, and great 
masses of our brethren hungry and discontented. We have not a 
little to struggle for among ourselves, when our whole force is 
needed against the enemy. In no country of Europe is the repre- 
sentative system of government more than a mere beginning. In 
no country of Europe is human brotherhood practically asserted. 
Nowhere are the principles of civilisation of Western Europe 
determined and declared, and made the gi-ound-work of organised 
action, as happily your principles are as against those of your 
slave-holding opponents. 

But, raw and ill-organised as are our forces, they will be strong 
sooner or later, against the serried armies of the Asiatic pohcy. 
If, on the one side, the soul comes up to battle with an imperfect 
and ill- defended body, on the other, the body is wholly without a 
soul, and must, in the end, fall to pieces. The best part of the 
mind of Western Europe will make itself a body by dint *of action, 
and the pressure which must bring out its forces ; and it may be 
doubted whether it could become duly embodied in any other way. 
What forms of society may aiise as features of this new growth, 
neither you nor I can say. We can only ask each other whether, 
witnessing as we do the spread of Communist ideas in every free 
nation of Europe, and the admission by some of the most cautious 
and old-fashioned observers of social movements that we in Eng- 
land cannot now stop short of * a modified communism,' the result 
is not likely to be a wholly new social state, if not as yet un- 
dreamed-of social idea. However this may be, while your slave 
question is dominant in Congress, and the Dissolution of your 
Union is becoming a familiar idea, and an avowed inspiration, our 
crisis is no less evidently approaching. Russia has Austria under 
her foot, and she is casting a corner of her wide pall over Turkey. 
England and France are awake and watchful ; and so many men 
of every country are astir, that we may rely upon it that not only 
are territorial alliances giving way before political affinities, but 
national ties will give way almost as readily, if the principles of 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 515 

social liberty should demand the disintegration of nations. Let iis 
not say, even to ourselves, whether we regard such an issue with 
hope or fear. It is a possibility too vast to be regarded but with 
simple faith and patience. In this spirit let us contemplate what 
is proceeding and what is coming, doing the little we can by the 
constant assertion of the principles of social liberty, and a perpetual 
watch for opportunities to stimulate human progress. 

Whether your conflict will be merely a moral one, you can 
form a better idea than I. Ours will consist in a long and bloody 
warfare — possibly the last, but inevitable now. 

The empire of brute force can conduct its final struggle only by 
brute force ; and there are but few yet on the other side who have 
any other notion or desire. While I sympathise wholly with you 
as to your means as well as your end, you- will not withhold your 
sympathy from us because our heroes still assert their views and 
wills by exposing themselves to wounds and death in the field 
and assenting once more to the old non sequitur about Might and 
Right. Let them this time obtain the lower sort of Might by the 
inspiration of their Right, and in another age, they will aim higher. 
But I need not thus petition you ; for I well know that where 
there is inost of Right, there will your sympathies surely rest. 

Believe me your friend, 

Harriet Martineau. 



CCCXXXIL 

Miss Novello has knitted a purse for Douglas Jerrcld, and 
the pungent satirist bethinks himself with some shame of all 
the cutting things he has said about woman. He sits down 
accordingly to write a palinode, and thinks to conceal his fault 
by lavishing compliments on the sex, but the cloven foot of the 
would-be cynic peeps out. 

Douglas Jerrold to Miss Sahilla Kovzllo. 

Putney Green : June 9, 1852. 
Dear Miss Novello, — I thank you very sincerely for your pre- 
sent, though I cannot but fear its fatal effects upon my limited 
fortunes, for it is so very handsome that whenever I produce it I 
feel that I have thousands a year, and as in duty bound, am inclined 
to pay accordingly. I shall go about, to the astonishment of all 
omnibii men, insisting upon paying sovereigns for sixpences. 



546 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

Happily, however, this amiable insanity will cure itself (or I 
may always bear my wife with me as a keeper). 

About this comedy. I am writing it under the most signifi- 
cant warnings. As the Eastern king — name unknown, at least to 
me — kept a crier to warn him that he was but mortal and must 
die, and so to behave himself as decently as it is possible for any 
poor king to do, so do I keep a flock of eloquent geese that continu- 
ally, within ear-shot, cackle of the British public. Hence, 1 trust 
to defeat the bii'ds of the Hay market by the birds of Putney. But 
in this comedy I do contemplate such a heroine, as a set-off to the 
many sins imputed to me as committed against woman, whom I have 
always considered to be an admirable idea imperfectly worked out. 
Poor soul ! she can't help that. Well, this heroine shall be woven 
of moon-beams- — a perfect angel, with one wing cut to keep her 
among us. She shall be all devotion. She shall hand over her 
lover (never mind his heart, poor wretch !), to her grandmother, 
who she suspects is very fond of him, and then, disguising herself 
as a youth, she shall enter the British navy and return in six 
years, say, with epaulets on her shoulders, and her name in the 
Navy List rated post-captain. You will perceive that I have 
Madame Celeste in my eye — am measuring her for the uniform. 
And young ladies will sit in the boxes, and with tearful eyes, and 
noses like rose-buds, say, " What magnanimity ! " And when this 
great work is done — this monument of the very best gilt ginger- 
bread to woman set up on the Hay market stage, you shall, if you 
will, go and see it, and make one to cry for the author, rewarding 
him with a crown of tin-foil, and a shower of sugar-plums. 

In lively hope of that ecstatic moment, I remain, yours truly, 

-Douglas Jerrold. 



CCCXXXIII. 

Barry Cornwall was the first person to discover the quaint 
genius ot Beddoes, that Elizabethan dramatist horn out of his 
due time, and struggling in vain against an unsympathetic gene- 
ration. Some of the best of Beddoes' letters, all of which teem 
with forcible and original literary thought, were addressed to 
Procter. It should perhaps be noticed that Ajax Flagellifer 
was George Barley, then fulminating as critic to the * London 
Magazine,' and that the ' last author ' is Beddoes himself, who 
Avas engaged in composing his * Death's Jest-Book.' 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 647 

Thomas Lovell Beddoes to Bryan Waller Procter. 

Bristol : March a, 1824. 

Dear Procter, — I have just been reading your epistle to our 
Ajax Flagellifer, the bloody John Lacy : on one point, where he is 
most vulnerable, you have omitted to place your sting, — I mean 
his palpable ignorance of the Elizabethans, and many other drama- 
tic writers of this and preceding times, with whom he ought to 
have formed at least a nodding acquaintance, before he offered him- 
self as physician to Melpomene. 

About Shakespeare you don't say enough. He was an incar- 
nation of nature, and you might just as well attempt to remodel 
the seasons, and the laws of life and death, as to alter ' one jot or 
tittle ' of his eternal thoughts. ' A star ' you call him : if he was 
a star, all the other stage- scribblers can hardly be considered a 
constellation of brass buttons. I say he was an universe ; and all 
material existence, with its excellences and defects, was reflected in 
shadowy thought upon the chrystal waters of his imagination, 
ever-glorified as they were by the sleepless sun of his golden intel- 
lect. And this imaginary universe had its seasons and changes, its 
harmonies and its discords, as well as the dirty reality ; on the snow- 
maned necks of its winter hurricanes rode madness, despair, and 
' empty death, with the winds whistling thrpugh the white grating 
of his sides ; ' its summer of poetry, glistening through the drops of 
pity ; and its solemn and melancholy autumn, breathing deep 
melody among the ' sere and yellow leaves ' of thunder-stricken life, 
(tc. &c. (See Charles Phillips's speeches and X. Y. Z. for the 
completing furbelow of this paragraph.) By the 3rd scene of the 
4th act of Macbeth, I conclude that you mean the dialogue between 
Malcolm and Macduff, which is only part of the scene ; for the 
latter part, from the entrance of Posse, is of course necessary to 
create an interest in the destined avenger of Duncan, as well as to 
set the last edge to our hatred of the usurper. The Doctor's speech 
is merely a compliment to the ' right divine ' of people in turreted 
night-caps to cure sores a little more expeditiously than Dr. Solo- 
mon ; and is, too, a little bit of smooth chat, to show, by Macduff's 
manner, that he has not yet heard of his wife's murder. 

I hope Guzman has grown since I saw him, and has improved 
in vice. 



543 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

I shall be in London in about a week, and hope to find you in 
your Franciscan eyrie — singing among the red brick boughs, and lay- 
ing tragedy-eggs for Covent Garden market. So you * think this last 
author will do something extraordinary : ' — so do I too ; I should not 
at all wonder, if he was to be plucked for his degree, — which would 
be quite delightful and new. 

This March wind has blown all my sense away, and so fare- 
well. 



CCCXXXIV. 

The following letters have been selected from the recently 
published Memoirs of the late Mr. 0. J. Mathews, by one of his 
personal friends, as being among the most characteristic of the 
great comedian. It will be lemarked that the genial freshness 
and hmiiom' common to the first two letters is preserved in 
the third, in spite of the lapse of more than half a century. But 
then this highly accomplished gentleman was always young 
and genial and kind. 

Charles J. Mathews to his Father. 

Crater of Vesuvius ! ! ! January 23, 1824. 
My dear Father, — I flatter myself I have chosen a situation 
sufficiently piquant to write you a letter. Here I am on that 
mountain, the talk and wonder of the world, the terror of thou- 
sands ! Not merely on it, but positively in the crater ! in it ! ! 
surrounded with smoke and fire ! standing on ashes, cinders, brim- 
stone, and sulphur ! ! How little are the people I look down upon 
at this moment ! They are like the Spanish fleet, they cannot be 
seen ; the King and all the royal family, all the pomp of the world 
is lost ; all its vices, virtues, pleasures, pains, are forgotten. How 
truly may life be compared to a broomstick ! Now is the time, if 
ever it can arrive, that Seven Dials, and even Islingtou, is for- 
gotten ! Now are the Tottenham, Olympic, and Royalty Theatres 
despised ! What a scene of horror is around me ! Fields of deso- 
lation, burning torrents, smoke, liquid fire, and every implement 
of destruction ! I can no more ; I am overwhelmed with the mag- 
nificence of my own imagination, I sink under the terrors invented 
and embodied by my own poetical mind. Immediately below me 
is an extinguished crater, into which three years ago a Frenchman 
precipitated himself. He remained three days at a little hermitage 



1877J ENGLISH LETTERS. 549 

on the mountain, and wrote some notes to his friends in Kaples. 
His object, he said, was to collect stones and various specimens of 
lava, for the Royal Museum at Paris. On the third day he went 
out as usual to collect and examine the volcanic matter on the 
mountain, and on approaching this crater — then in action — desired 
the guide to fetch him a particular stone at a little distance off, 
but on the instant of his turning his back, he threw himself head- 
long into the burning crater. The guide instantly ran to the spot, 
but only in time to see him thrown up, and immediately reduced 
to a cinder. His reason he left among his papers. He said he 
had long been disgusted with the world and had determined to 
destroy himself, but that the last blow had been given liimby a young 
lady, to whom he was so much attached, having married in his 
absence and contrary to her vows of fidelity to himself. 

About half-way up the mountain is a hermitage, where we take 
some refreshment on our journey, which is necessary enough, for 
the labour is very great to arrive at the summit, walking on cin- 
ders, and each step that is taken brings the sufierer a yard lower 
than he was before. In the hermitage is an album, as usual in all 
show places, for fools to write nonsense in. I only found two bits 
worth copying. Les voih\. 

* John Hallett of the Port of Poole, England, went to Mount 
Vesuvius on the 20 of Oct. 1823, and I wood Kecomend aney 
person that go ther to take a bottle of wine there, for it his a dry 
place and verrey bad rode.' 

' 1823. I have witnessed the famous mountain of Vesuvius in 
Italy, and likewise the Wicklow mountains in Ireland which I 
prefer, they talk of the lava in a Palaver I little understand, and 
as for the crater, give me a drop of the siuait cratur of Dublin in 
preference. — James O'Connor.* 

I write as you may suppose in high spirits, and conclude with 
saying that thoug'i you and your spouse are only my distant rela- 
tions, that I shall always be entirely yours, 

Charles James Mathews. 



550 ENGLISH LETTERS. flSOO^ 



CCOXXXV. 

Charles J. Mathews to his Mother. 

Palazzo Belvedere, Naples : March 11, 1824. 

My dear Mother, — In snubbing me for my love of writing on 
exterior subjects, or rather my not mentioning those of our interior, 
you are not aware of what you desire. All onr occupations nearly 
are external, our indoor employments are always the same, and 
therefore uninteresting in the description. But since you are 
determined to be made acquainted with our domesticities I shall 
give you one day. 

In the morning we generally rise from our beds, couches, floors, 
or whatever we happen to have been reposing upon the night 
before, and those who have morning-gowns and slippers put them 
on as soon as they are up. We then commence the ceremony of 
washing, which is longer or shorter in its duration, according to 
the taste of the persons who use it. You will be glad to know 
that from the moment Lady Blessington awakes she takes exactly 
one hour and a half to the time she makes her appeamnce, when 
we usually breakfast ; this prescience is remarkably agreeable, as 
we can always calculate thus upon the probable time of our break- 
fasting ; there is sometimes a difference of five or six minutes, but 
seldom more. This meal taking place latish in the day, I always 
have a premature breakfast in my own room the instant I am up, 
which prevents my feeling that hunger so natural to the human 
frame from long fasting. After our collation, if it be fine, we set 
off to see sights, walks, palaces, monasteries, views, galleries of 
pictures, antiquities, and all that sort of thiv^ ; if rainy, we set to 
drawing, writing, reading, billiards, fencing, and everything in the 
world. At dinner we generally contrive to lay in a stock of 
viands that may last us through the evening and sometimes suc- 
ceed, Aiter dinner, as well as several times in the course of the 
day, we go up and pay a visit to poor * Prim-rose,' ^ who, it is 
supposed, will be allowed to walk a little in the course of two or 
three months more. Should we leave before that she must go 
home by sea, as the motion of a carriage would certainly much 
injure her. 

* Miss Power, Lady Blessing-ton's sister. 



1877] EXGLISH LETTEIiS. 551 

In the evening eacli person arranges himself (and herself) at 
his table and follows his own concerns till about 1 o'clock, when 
we sometimes play whist, sometimes talk, and are always de- 
lightful ! About half-jxist eleven we retii-e with our flat candle- 
sticks in our hands, after wishing each other the coniplimoits of 
the season ami health to icear it out. Thursdays usually, and 
Sundays, the Italian master comes, though for the present we 
have dropped him. 

More Particulars. 

At dinner Lady B tiikes the head of the table, Lord B 

left, Count D'Oi'say on her right, and I at the bottom. AVe have 
generally for the first service a joint and five entrees; for the 
second, a roti and five entrees, including sweet things. The name 
of our present cook is Eaftelle, and a very good one when he likes. 

This is the nature of our day in the house. Almost all the 
interest of Xaples, and indeed of all Italy, is among the wonderful 
curiosities with which every city and its environs is overstocked. 

I am more and more anxious to know the result of my 
f;ither's entertainment. With }>est love to him, Wlieve me, my 
dear mother, 

Your affectionate Son, 

C. J. Mathews. 

P.S. Lord B always cuts his own hair with a pair of 

scissors ! ! ! 



CCCXXXYI. 

Written the year before his death at the ajre of 74, on the 
occasion of a benefit to the late Mr. John Parry, when Mr. 
Mathews was to plav Sir Fretlul PWiary and Puff in the 
'Critic' 

Charles J. Mathews to the Manager of the Gaiety Theatre. 

50, Belgrave Road : February G, 1877, 4 p.m. 
I cannot tell you how disappointed I am at not being able to 
assist at the benefit of my dear old friend John Parry to-morrow, 
I should have been delighted to put my best leg forward. But 
alas ! at this moment I have no one leg that is better than the 
other. That agreeable complaint, so airily spoken of by those who 
never had it, as * a touch of the gout,' has knocked me oft' my pins 



652 ENGLISH LETTEBS. [1800- 

altogetlier. Your gout is a sad enemy to light comedy (we young 
light comedians are only men after all) and how could I, in the 
character of Puff, talk to Sneer and Dangle of my ' hopping and 
skipping about the stage with my usual activity,' while hobbling 
on by the aid of a stick ? (I have sometimes been badly supported 
even by two). 

It is the first time I ever disappointed the public on a similar 
occasion, and only comfoii; myself with the reflection that I shall 
not be missed among so many; and that, after all, so that the 
illustrious John be in good form, the audience will be amply grati- 
fied, and pardon my unavoidable absence. 

I need not wish Parry success — one who has never known any- 
thing else, and can only envy those who are able once more to 
witness and enjoy it. 

I send no doctor's certificate. I wish I was enabled to do so. 
But if any one doubts, all the harm I wish him is that he should 
exchange places with me for four-and- twenty hours. 

Faithfully yours, 

C. J. Mathews. 



cccxxxvn. 



A chatty letter from the pen of the popular novelist, 
written when he was at the meridian of his literary fame, will 
probably be interesting. 

Sir Edioard Bulwer Lytton to Lady Blessington. 

January 23, 1835. 

Yerily, my dearest friend, you regale me like Prince Pretty- 
man, in the Fairy Isle. I owe you all manner of thanks for a 
most delicate consideration, in the matter of twelve larks, which 
flew hither on the wings of friendship yesterday ; and scarcely had 
I recovered from their apparition, when lo, the rushing pinions of 
a brace of woodcocks. 

Sappho and other learned persons tell us that Yenus drove 
sparrows ; at present she appears to have remodelled her equipage 
upon a much more becoming and attractive feather. I own that 
I have always thought the Dove himself a fool to the \Yoodcock, 
whom, for his intrinsic merits, I would willingly crown King of 
the tribe. As for your eagle, he is a Carlist of the old regime, a 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 553 

mere Boiirbon, good for nothing, and pompous ; but the Wood- 
cock, parlez moi de ca, he has the best qualities both of head and 
heart ; and as for beauty, what opera-dancer ever had such a leg ? 
I have given their two majesties into Rembault's honourable 
charge, and hope they will be crowned to-morrow as a matter of 

COURSE. 

Many thanks for the volume of Monsr. de B . . . — You are 
right. I never saw a cooler plagiarism in my life. I shall cer- 
tainly retaliate upon M. de B . . . the moment I can find anything 
in him worth stealing ! Yet the wretch has talent, and his French 
seems to me purer and better (but I am a very poor judge) than 
that of most of his contemporaries. But then he has no elevation, 
and therefore no true genius, and has all the corruptions of vice 
without her brilliancy. Good Heaven ! has the mighty mischief 
of Voltaire transmigrated into such authorlings. They imitate his 
mockery, his satire. They had much better cobble shoes. 

I don't (pardon me) believe a word you say about the ' Two 
Friends.' If it have no passion, il may be an admirable novel 
nevertheless. Miss Edge worth has no passion ; — and who in her 
line excels her ? 

As to your own doubts they foretell your success. I have 
always found, one is never so successful as when one is least san- 
guine. I fell in the deepest despondency about * Pompeii ' and 

* Eugene Aram ' ; and was certain, nay, most presumptuous about 

* Devereux,' which is the least generally popular of my writings. 

Your feelings of distrust are presentiments to be read back- 
ward ; they are the happiest omens. But I will tell you all about 
it — Brougham-like — when I have read the book. As to what I 
say in the preface to ' Pelham,' the rules that I lay down may not 
suit all. Bat it may be worth while to scan over two or three 
common-place books of general criticism, such as Blair's * Belles 
Lettres,' Campbell's ' Rhetoric,' and Schlegel's ' Essay on the 
Drama,' and his brother's on ' Literature.' 

They are, it is true, very mediocre, and say nothing of novels 
to signify ; but they will suggest to a thoughtful mind a thousand 
little maxims of frequent use. Becollect all that is said of poetry 
and the drama may be applied to novels ; but after all, I doubt 
not you will succeed equally without this trouble. Reflection in 
one's chamber, and action in the world, are the best critics. With 



554 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

tliem we can dispense with other teachers; without them all 
teachers are in vain. * Fool ! ' (says Sidney in the Arcadia), ' Fool ! 
look in thy heart and write ! ' E. L. B. 



CCCXXXVIII. 



* Hand Immemor' is the title of a brochure written and pri- 
vately printed in Philadelphia fifteen years ago in memory of 
the late Mr. Thackeray. It consists of a few personal recollec- 
tions of the gentleman to whom the following letters were 
written, and with whom Mr. Thackeray became intimately 
acquainted on the occasion of his visit to America in 1853 for 
the purpose of delivering a course of lectures on the English 
Humourists. Mr. Reed remarks: * There are two classes of 
people in every American microcosm, those who run after cele- 
brities, and those, resolute not to be pleased, who run, as it were, 
against them. All were won or conquered by his simple 
naturalness.' As the brochure, containing the following and 
other letters from the pen of the great satirist, was published 
some years ago in ' Blackwood,' the editor is glad to be able to 
enrich his collection with Uvo such characteristic examples with- 
out disrespect to their author's objection to the publication of his 
correspondence. 

William M. Thackeray to the Hon. W. B. Reed. 

Mr. Anderson's Music Store, Peun's Avenue, 
Friday , (1853.) 

My dear Beed, — (I withdraw the Mr. as wasteful and ridiculous 
excess), and thank you for the famous autograph, and the kind 
letter enclosing it, and the good wishes you form for me. There 
are half a dozen houses I already know in Philadelphia where I 
could find very pleasant friends and company ; and that good old 
library would give me plenty of acquaintance more. But home 
and my parents there, and some few friends I have made in the 
25 years, and a tolerably fair prospect of an honest livelihood on 
the familiar London flag-stones, and the library at the Athenaeum, 
and the ride in the Park, and the pleasant society afterwards ; and 
a trip to Paris now and again, and to Switzerland and Italy in 
the summer — these are little temptations which make me not dis- 
contented with my lot, about which I grumble only for pastime, 
and because it is an Englishman's privilege. 

Own now that all these recreations here enumerated have a 
pleasant sound. I hope I shall live to enjoy them yet a little 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 555 

wL Lie, before I go to ' Nox et domiis exilis Plutonia/ whither poor, 
kind, old Peter has vanished. So that Saturday I was to Viave 
dined with him, and ^Mrs. Peter MTote, saving, he was ill with 
influenza, he was in bed with his last illness, and there were to be 
no more Whister parties for him. "Will Whister himself, hos- 
pitable, pig-tailed shade, welcome him to Hades ] And will they 
sit down — no, stand up — to a ghostly supper, devouring the 
[(pdi/uovg il^xijg of oysters and all sorts of birds ? I never feel pity 
for a man dying, only for survivors, if there be such, passionately 
deploring him. 

You see the pleasures the undersigned proposes to himself here 
in futiu-e years — a sight of the Alps, a holiday on the Rhine, a 
ride in the Park, a colloquy with pleasant friends of an evening. 
If it is death to part with these delights (and pleasures they are 
and no mistake), sure the mind can conceive others afterwards ; 
and I know one small philosopher who is quite ready to give up 
these pleasures ; quite content (after a pang or two of separation 
from dear friends here), to put his hand into that of the summoning 
Ancjel and say, * Lead on, O messenger of Grod our Father, to the 
next place whither the Di^-ine Goodness calls us.* "We must be 
blindfolded before we can pass, I know ; but I have no fear about 
what is to come, any more than my children need fear that the 
love of their father should fail them. I thought myself a dead 
man once, and protest the notion gave me no disquiet about myself 
— at least the philosophy is more comfortable than that which is 
tinctured ^ith brimstone. 

The Baltimoreans flock to the stale old lectui'es as numerously 
as you to . . . Philadelphia. Here, the audiences are more polite 
than numerous ; but the people who do come are very well pleased 
with their entertainment. I have had many dinners — Mr. Everett, 
[Mr. Pish, our Minister, ever so often the most hospitable of envoys. 
I have seen no one at all in Baltimore, for it is impossible to do 
the two towns together ; and from this I go to Eichmond and 
Charleston — not to Xew Orleans, which is too far. And I hope 
you will make out your visit to "Washington, and that we shall 
make out a meeting more satisfactory than that dinner at Xew 
York, which did not come off". The combination failed which I 
wanted to bring about. Have you heard Miss Furness of Phila- 
delphia sing ? She is the very best ballad-singer I ever heard. And 



556 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

will you please remember me to Mrs. Keed, and your brother, and 
Wharton, and Lewis, and his pretty young daughter ; and believe 
me, always faithfully yours, dear Reed, 

W. M. Thackeray. 



CCCXXXIX. 

William M. Thackeray to the Hon. W. B. Reed. 

Neufchatel, Switzerland : July 21, 1853. 

My dear Keed, — Though I am rather slow in paying the tailor, 
I always pay him ; and as with tailors, so with men ; I pay my 
debts to my friends, only at rather a long day. Thank you for 
writing to me so kindly, you who have so much to do. I have 
only began to work ten days since, and now, in consequence, have 
little leisure. Before, since my return from the West, it was 
flying from London to Paris, and vice versa — dinners right and 
left — parties every night. If I had been in Philadelphia, I could 
scarcely have been more feasted. Oh, you unhappy Reed ! I see 
you (after that little supper with McMichael) on Sunday, at your 
own table, when we had that good sherry-madeira, turning aside 
from the wine cup with your pale fac^ ! That cup has gone down 
this well so often, that I wonder the cup isn't broken, and the well 
as well as it is. Three weeks of London were more than enough 
for me, and I feel as if I had had enough of it and of pleasure. 
Then I remained a month with my parents ; then I brought my 
girls on a little pleasuring tour. We spent 10 days at Baden, when 
I set intrepidly to work again ; and have been five days in Swit- 
zerland now, not bent on going up mountains, but on taking 
things easily. How beautiful it is ! How pleasant ! How great 
and afiable, too, the landscape is ! It's delightful to be in the 
midst of such scenes — the ideas get generous reflections from them. 
I don't mean to say my thoughts grow mountainous and enormous 
like the Alpine chain yonder — but, in fine, it is good to be in the 
presence of this noble nature. It is keeping good company ; keep- 
ing away mean thoughts. I see in the papers now and again 
accounts of fine parties in London. Bon Dieu ! Is it possible 
any one ever wanted to go to fine London parties, and are there 
now people sweating in May-fair routs 1 

The European Continent swarms with your people. They are 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. fi57 

not all as polished as Chesterfield. I wish some of them spoke 
French a little better. I saw five of them at supper, at Basle, the 
other night with their knives down their throats. It was awful. 
My daughter saw it, and I was obliged to say : ' My dear, your 
great-great grandmother, one of the finest ladies of the old school I 
ever saw, always applied cold steel to her victuals. It's no crime 
to eat with a knife,' which is all very well, but I wish five of 'em 
at a time wonldn't. 

Will you please beg McMichael, when Mrs. Grlyn, the English 
tragic actress, comes to read Shakespeare in your city, to call on 
her — do the act of kindness to her, and help her with his valuable 
editorial aid % I wish we were going to have another night soon, 
and that I was going this very evening to set you up with a head- 
ache against to-morrow morning. By Jove, how kind you all 
were to me ! How I like people, and w^ant to see 'em again ! 
You are more tender-hearted, romantic, sentimental, than we are. 
I keep on telling this to our fine people here, and have so bela- 
boured your — (Here, the paper on being turned revealed a pen 
and ink caricature. At the top is written, ' Pardon this rubbish- 
ing picture : but I didn't see, and can't afford to write page 3 over 
again) — your country with praise in private that I sometimes 
think I go too far. I keep back some of the truth : but the great 
point to try and ding into the ears of the great, stupid, virtue- 
proud English is, that there are folks as good as they in America. 
That's where Mrs. Stowe's book has done harm, by inflaming us 
with an idea of our own superior virtue in freeing our blacks, 
whereas you keep yours. Comparisons are always odorous, as Mrs. 
Malaprop says. 

I am about a new story, but don't know as yet if it will be 
any good. It seems to me I am too old for story telling ; but I 
want money, and shall get 20,000 dollars for this, of which (D.Y.) 
I'll keep fifteen. I wish this rubbish (the sketch) were away j I 
might put written rubbish in its stead. Not that I have anything 
to say, but that I always remember you and yours, and honest 
Mac, and Wharton, and Lewis, and kind fellows who have been 
kind to me, and I hope will be kind to me again. 

Good bye, my dear Beed, and believe me, ever sincerely yours, 

W. M. Thackeray. 

25 



658 ENGLISH LETTERS. [180(K 



COOXL. 

Tlie greatest proof of Charles Dickens's high spirits was the 
inventive sldll he devoted (with no little expenditure of time) 
to such whimsical jokes as that of pretending an attachment to 
the Queen. The following letter, written immediately after her 
Majesty's marriage in 1840, was addressed to his friend, Mr. T. 
J. Thompson, the father of the painter of the ' Roll Call.' Mr. 
Wakley, to whom reference is made in Mr. Dickens's postscript, 
was coroner at that date. 

Charles Dichens to 2fr. T. J. Thompson. 

Devonshire Terrace : Thursday morning. [1840.] 
My dear Thompson, — .... Maclise and I are raving with 
love for the Queen, with a hopeless passion whose extent no tongue 
can tell, nor mind of man conceive. On Tuesday we sallied down 
to Windsor, prowled about the Castle, saw the corridor and their 
private rooms, Nay, the very bedchamber (which we know from 
having been there twice), lighted up with such a ruddy, homely, 
brilliant glow, bespeaking so much bliss and happiness, that I, your 
humble servant, lay down in the mud at the top of the Long Walk 
and refused all comfort — to the immeasurable astonishment of a 
few straggling passengers who had survived the drunkenness of the 
previous night. After perpetrating sundry other extravagances, 
we returned home at midnight in a post-chaise, and now we wear 
marriage medals next our hearts and go about with pockets fuU of 
portraits, which we weep over in secret. Forster was with us at 
Windsor, and (for the joke's sake), counterfeits a passion too, but 

HE DOES NOT LOVE HER. 

Don't mention this unhappy attachment. I am very wretched, 
and think of leaving my home. My wife makes me miserable, and 
when I hear the voices of my infant children, I bui-st into tears. 
I fear it is too late to ask you to take this house, now that you 
have made such arrangements of comfort in Pall Mall ; but if you 
will, you shall have it very cheap — furniture at a low valuation — 
money not being so much an object as escaping from the family. 
For God's sake turn this matter over in your mind, and please to 
ask Captain Kincaide what he asks — his lowest terms, in short, 
for ready money — for that post of Gentleman-at-Arms. I must 
be near her, and I see no better way than that — for the present, 

I have on hand three numbers of ' Master Humphrey's Clock,' 



1877J ENGLISH LETTERS. 559 

and the two first chapters of ' Barnaby.' "Would you like to buy 
them % Writing any more in my present state of mind is out of the 
question. They are written in a pretty fair hand, and when I am in 
the Serpentine may be considered curious. Name your own terms. 

I know you don't like trouble, but I have ventured, notwith- 
standing, to make you an executor of my will. There won't be a 
great deal to do, as there is no money. There is a little bequest 
having reference to her which you might like to execute. I have 
heard on the Lord Chamberlain's authority that she reads my 
books and is very fond of them. I think she will be sorry when 
I am gone. I should vv'ish to be embalmed, and to be kept (if 
practicable), on the top of the Triumphal Arch at Buckingham 
Palace when she is in town, and on the north-east turrets of the 

Bound Tower when she is at Windsor 

.... From your distracted and blighted friend, 

C. D. 

Don't show this to Mr. Wakley if it ever comes to that. 



OCCXLI. 

Two days after the birth of his fifth child Charles Dickens 
received an invitation from three of his intimate friends to dine 
at Richmond. This is the amusing reply. 

Charles Lichens to Messrs. Forster, Maclise^ and Stanfield. 
Devonshire Lodge: January 17, 1844. 

Fellow Countrymen, — The appeal with which you have hon- 
oured me, awakens within my breast emotions that are more 
easily to be imagined than described. Heaven bless you. I shall 
indeed be proud, my friends, to respond to such a requisition. I 
had withdrawn fi-om Public Life — I fondly thought for ever — to 
pass the evening of my days in hydropathical pursuits, and the 
contemplation of virtue. For which latter purpose, I had bought 
a looking-glass. But, my friends, private feeling must ever yield 
to a stern sense of public duty. The Man is lost in the Invited 
Guest, and I comply. Nurses, wet and dry ; apothecaries ; 
mothers-in-law ; babbies ; with all the sweet (and chaste) delights 
of private life; these, my countrymen, are hard to leave. But 
you have called me forth, and I will come. Fellow Countrymen, 
your friend and faithful servant, Charles Dickens. 



5G0 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 



CCCXLII. 

Mrs. Cowden Clarke joined Dickens' Amateur Dramatic Com- 
pany in 1848 and took the part of Dame Quickly with much 
success. She has recorded with pleasant enthusiasm the gaiety 
and joj^ous excitement of this frolic stroll through the pro- 
vinces of which Dickens was the heart and soul. The troupe 
returned to London to find ordinary life very dull and hum- 
drum, and it was in the midst of this first natural depression 
that the ' Implacable Manager ' wrote this engaging note. The 
initials Y.G. and G.L.B. refer to the names Dickens had given 
himself of Young Gas^ and Gas-Light Boy. 

Charles Dickens to Mary Cowden Clarke. 

Devonshire Terrace : July 22, 1848. 

My dear Mrs. Clarke, — I have no energy whatever, I am very 
miserable. I loathe domestic hearths. I yearn to be a vagabond. 
Why can't I marry Mary? Why have I seven children — not 
engaged at sixpence a-night a-piece, and dismissible for ever, if they 
tumble down, not taken on for an indefinite time at a vast ex- 
pense, and never, — no never, never, — wearing lighted candles 
round their heads. I am deeply miserable. A real house like 
this is insupportable, after that canvas farm wherein I was so 
happy. What is a humdrum dinner at half-past five, with nobody 
(but John) to see me eat it, compared with that soup, and the hun- 
dreds of pairs of eyes that watched its disappearance? Forgive 
this tear. It is weak and foolish, I know. 

Pray let me divide the little excursional excesses of the journey 
among the gentlemen, as I have always done before, and pray 
believe that I have had the sincerest pleasure and gratification in 
your co-operation and society, valuable and interesting on all 
public accounts, and personally of no mean worth nor held in 
slight regard. 

You had a sister once when we were young and happy — 1 
think they called her Emma. If she remember a bright being 
who once flitted like a vision before her, entreat her to bestow a 
thought upon the ' Gas ' of departed joys. I can write no more. 

' Y. G.' The (darkened) * G. L. B.' 



1877 J ENGLISH LETTERS, 661 



CCCXLIII. 

Written on tlie occasion of the youngest cliild of Charles 
Dickens leaving home to join his brother in Australia. Mr. 
Forster, in his Life of this most widely popular of modern 
■writers, says of this letter, ' Those who most intimately knew 
Dickens will know best that every word is written from his 
heart, and is radiant with the truth of his nature.' 

Charles Dickens to his Youngest Child. 

September, 1868. 
I write this note to-day because your going away is much upon 
my mind, and because I want you to have a few parting words 
from me, to think of now and then at quiet times. I need not 
tell you that I love you dearly, and am very, very sorry in my 
heart to part with you. But this life is half made up of partings, 
and these pains must be borne. It is my comfort and ray sincere 
conviction that you are going to try the life for which you are best 
fitted. I think its freedom and wildness more suited to you than 
any experiment in a study or office would have been : and without 
that training, you could have followed no other suitable occupa- 
tion. "What you have always wanted until now, has been a set, 
steady, constant purpose. I therefore exhort you to persevere in a 
thorough determination to do whatever you have to do, as well as 
you can do it. I was not so old as you are now, when I first bad 
to win my food, and to do it out of this determination ; and I 
have never slackened in it since. Never take a mean advantage 
of any one in any transaction, and never be hard upon people who 
are in your power. Try to do to others as you would have them 
do to you, and do not be discouraged if they fail sometimes. It is 
much better for you that they should fail in obeying the gi-eatest 
rule laid down by Our Saviour than that you should. I put a 
New Testament among your books for the very same reasons, and 
with the very same hopes, that made me write an easy account of 
it for you, when you were a Kttle child. Because it is the best 
book that ever was, or will be, known in the world; and because 
it teaches you the best lessons by which any human creature, who 
tries to be truthful and faithful to duty, can possibly be guided. 
As your brothers have gone away, one by one, I have written to 



562 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800-^ 

each such words as I am now writing to you, and have entreated 
them all to guide themselves by this Book, putting aside the inter- 
pretations and inventions of man. You will remember that you 
have never at home been harassed about rehgious observances, or 
mere formalities. I have always been anxious not to weary my 
children with such things, before they are old enough to form 
opinions respecting them. You will therefore understand the 
better that I now most solemnly impress upon you the truth and 
beauty of the Christian Religion, as it came from Christ Himself, 
and the impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but 
heartily respect it. Only one thing more on this head. The more 
we are in earnest as to feeUng it, the less we are disposed to hold 
forth about it. Never abandon the wholesome practice of saying 
your own private prayers, night and morning. I have never 
abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it. I hope you 
will always be able to s?y in after life, that you had a kind father. 
You cannot show your affection for him so well, or make him so 
happy, as by doing your duty. 



CCCXLIV. 

So many of the Hev. F. W. Robertson's letters are charac- 
teristic of their writer, and the writer himself was so great and 
good a man that even in this hook of specimens one hesitates 
to intrude such fragmentary recognition of him without apology. 
No man in our day has exercised greater self-denial in the pursuit 
of the high function of influencing men for good. The bodily 
disease which afflicted and troubled him so poignantly might 
have been cured had he taken needful rest ; but he never seems 
to have relaxed for a single moment the fascinating grasp which 
his strong liberalism, his devout earnestness, and particularly 
his fearlessness of purpose enabled him to retain over his con- 
gregation and his personal friends. 

As Mr. Stopford Brooke, his biographer, remarks, ^ He seems 
to have been rather /eZ^ than seen by men.' 

The Rev. F. W. Robertson to . 

July, 1851. 

I wish I did not hate preaching so much, but the degradation 

of being a Brighton preacher is almost intolerable. ' I cannot dig, 

to beg I am ashamed ; ' but I think there is not a hard-working 

artisan whose work does not seem to me a worthier and higher 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS, 563 

being tlian myself. I do not depreciate spiritual work — I hold 
it higher than secular ; all I say and feel is, that by the change 
of times the pulpit has lost its place. It does only part of that 
whole which used to be done by it alone. Once it was newspaper, 
schoolmaster, theological treatise, a stimulant to good works, histo- 
rical lecture, metaphysics, &c., all in one. Now these are par- 
titioned out to different officers, and the pulpit is no more the 
pulpit of three centuries back, than the authority of a master of a 
household is that of Abraham, who was soldier, butcher, sacrificer, 
shepherd, and emir in one person. Nor am I speaking of the 
ministerial office ; but only the ' stump orator ' portion of it — and 
that I cannot but hold to be thoroughly despicable. I had an 

hour's baiting from Mrs. yesterday, in reference, no doubt, to 

what the papers have been saying, and to reports of my last 
sermons. She talked very hotly of the practice of laying all 
faults at the door of the aristocracy, whereas it was the rich city 
people, on whom she lavished all her (supposed) aristocratic scorn, 
who were in fault, because they would live like nobles. Besides, 
did not the nobles spend their money, and was not that support of 
the poor ? I wasted my time in trying to explain to her that 
expenditure is not production ; that ^50,000 a year spent is not 
^50,000 worth of commodities produced, and adds nothing to the 
real wealth of the country. I tried to show her that twenty 
servants are not supported by their master, but by the labourers 
who rais3 their corn and make their clothes ; and that twenty 
beings taken off the productive classes throws so much more labour 
upon those classes. Of course such things are necessary; only 
employment does not create anything. Men engaged in carrying 
dishes or in making useless roads are employed, no doubt. But 
this labour does the country no good ; and the paying of them for 
their labour, or the mere giving in charity, may make a faii^er dis- 
tribution of the wealth there is, but does not go one step towards 
altering the real burden of the country or producing new wealth. 
Extravagant expenditure impoverishes the country. This simple 
fact I could not make her comprehend. Then she got upon poli- 
tical preaching — abused it very heartily — acknowledged that 
religion had to do with man's political life, but said a clergyman's 
duty is to preach obedience to the powers that be — was lather 
puzzled when I asked her whether it were legitimate to preach 



564 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

from James v. 1 : ' Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl,' &c. 
— asked whether it was possible for old women and orphans to 
understand such subjects, to which I replied, ' No ; and if a clergy- 
man refuse to touch on such subjects, which belong to real 
actual life, the men will leave his church ; and, as is the case in 
the Church of England, he will only have charity orphans who are 
compelled to go, and old women to preach to.' 

On Monday I had a long visit from . He wanted me to 

preach in Percy Chapel for some schools. I refused. The system 
of ' starring ' it through the country is a contemptible one. If 
there is a feeble light in any man, the glowworm is the type which 
nature has given for his conduct, to shine or glimmer quietly in 
his own place, and let the winged insects come to the light if they 
like. Whereas the fireflies which fly in the West Indies, ob- 
truding themselves about in people's faces, are caught and put 
under a watch-glass by the inhabitants, to show them what o'clock 
it is by night. When they have been used up they are thrown 
aside, and no one stops to see whether they live or die. The quiet 
little glowworm is seen only by those that love it. Birds of prey 
are asleep. What a pretty little fable might be made of this ! 
For men and women it is true. She who will be admired, flashing 
her full-dressed radiance in the foohsh or rather wise world's face, 
will be treated like the firefly, used to light up a party or to flirt 
with, and then &c. &c. 



CCCXLV. 
The Rev. F. W. Robertson to 



My dear , — I implore you, do not try morphine ever, no, 

not once. I will trust you not to do so, not to take any opiate 
whatever. I ask it humbly. Pledge me your word that you will 
honourably comply with this, in the letter and in the spirit too. 
It is a wicked and cowardly attempt to rule the spirit by the flesh. 
It is beneath you. If you do it I can honour you no longer ; the 
results upon the system are slow, sure, and irreparable, and the 
habit grows until it is unconquerable. I am deeply, anxiously in 
earnest. You are not worthy the fidelity of my friendship if you 
try to drown misery in that way. Except in the grossness of the 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 565 

effect, wliere is the difference between the opiate and the dram 1 
Do you not know what keeps the gin palaces open "? — Misery ! 
The miserable go there to forget. Yon must not, and shall not do 
it, for it is degradation. I would have you condescend to no 
miserable materialism to escape your sorrow. Remember what 
Maria Theresa said when she began to doze in dying, ' I want to 
meet my God awake.' E-emember that He refused the medicated 
opiate on the cross. Meet misery awake. May I borrow sacred 
words : ' Having begun in the spirit, do not be made perfect 
through the flesh.' Summon the force to bear out of your own 
heart, and the divine that dwells there — not out of a laudanum 
bottle. I have spoken ruggedly, but not rudely. Forgive me ; I 
am not myself to-night ; I would gladly sustain the depression I 
fee], by opiate, or by anything else; but I resist, because it is 
despicable. 

_^ Yours, &c. 

COCXLVI. 

Charles Kingsley at the outset of his curate life was vege- 
tating in a somewhat primitive fashion in a thatched cottage at 
Eversley. Except at Sandhurst, there was no society in and 
about his parish, and he makes the following plaintive appeal to 
an old college friend. 

The Rev. Charles Kingsley to Mr. Wood. 

Eversley: 1842. 
Peter ! — Whether in the glaring saloons of Almack's, or 
making love in the equestrian stateliness of the park, or the 
luxurious recumbency of the ottoman, whether breakfasting at 
one, or going to bed at three, thou art still Peter, the beloved of 
my youth, the staff of my academic days, the regret of my paro- 
chial retirement ! — Peter ! I am alone ! Around me are the 
everlasting hills, and the everlasting bores of the country ! My 
parish is peculiar for nothing but want of houses and abundance 
of peat bogs ; my parishioners remarkable only for aversion to 
education, and a predilection for fat bacon. I am wasting my 
sweetness on the desert air — I say my sweetness, for I have given 
up smoking, and smell no more. Oh, Peter, Peter, come down 
and see me ! O that I could behold your head towering above the 
fir-trees that surround my lonely dwelling. Take pity on me ! I 



566 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

am like a kitten in the washhouse copper with the lid on ! And, 
Peter, prevail on some of your friends here to give me a day's 
trout-fishing, for my hand is getting out of practice. But, Peter, I 
am, considering the oscillations and perplex cii'cumgurgitations of 
this piece-meal world, an improved man. I am much more happy, 
much more comfortable, reading, thinking, and doing my duty — 
much more than ever I did before in my life. Therefore I am not 
discontented with my situation or regretful that I buried my first- 
class in a country curacy, like the girl who shut herself up in a 
band-box on her wedding night {vide Rogers's * Italy '). And my 
lamentations are not general (for I do not want an inundation of 
the froth and tide-wash of Babylon the Great), but particular, 
being solely excited by want of thee, oh Peter, who are very 
pleasant to me, and wouldst be more so if thou wouldst come and 
eat my mutton, and drink my wine, and admire my sermons, some 
Sunday at Eversley. 

Your faithful friend, 

Boanerges E,oar-at-the-Clods. 



CCOXLYIT. 

Mr. James Brooke, a British subject, was cruising in the 
Eastern Seas in his yacht, the ' Royalist ' (armed with a few six- 
pounders), at the time the Dyaks were in a state of insur- 
rection at Sarawak against the Sultan of Borneo. Mr. Brooke 
visited Sarawak and volunteered his aid in suppressing the 
rebels. Some time afterwards the Sultan conferred on him the 
title of Rajah and Governor of Sarawak. 

Rajah Brooke set to work to reform the government, and 
with the assistance of some English ships of war, he extir- 
pated piracy. Visiting England in 1848 he was created a 
Knight Commander of the Bath. But certain influential people 
who were hostile to his severe treatment of the natives charged 
him vs'ith butchering unoffending people on the pretext of exter- 
minating a few pirates. 

Mr, Kingsley did not share in this view. ^ Westward Ho ' 
was dedicated to Rajah Sir James Brooke and Bishop Selwyn. 

The Rev. Charles Kingsley to J. M. Ludlow, 

I have an old ' crow to pick with you ' about my hero. Rajah 
Brooke ; and my spirit is stirred within me this morning by seeing 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 567 

that the press are keeping up the attack on him for the Borneo 
business. I say at once that I think he was utterly right and 
righteous. If I had been in his place I would have done the same. 
If it is to do again, I trust he will have courage to do it again. 
But, thank God, just because it is done it will not have to be done 
again. 

The truest benevolence is occasional severity. It is expedient 
that one man die for the people. One tribe exterminated, if need 
be, to save a whole continent. * Sacrifice of human life ! ' Prove 
that it is human life. It is beast-life. 

These Dyaks have put on the image of the beast, and they must 
take the consequence. ' Value of life 1 ' Oh, Ludlow, read history ; 
look at the world, and see whether God values mere physical 
existence. Look at the millions who fall in war ; the mere fact 
that savage races, though they breed like rabbits, never increase in 
number ; and then, beware lest you reproach your Maker. Christ 
died for them 1 Yes, and He died for the whole creation as well — 
the whole world, Ludlow — for the sheep you eat, the million 
animalcules which the whale swallows at every gape. They shall 
all be hereafter delivered into the glorious liberty of the children 
of God ; but, as yet, just consider the mere fact of beasts of prey, 
the countless destruction which has been going on for ages and 
ages, long before Adam's fall, and then consider. Physical death is 
no evil. It may be a blessing to the survivors. Else, why pestilence, 
famine, Cromwell and Perrot in Ireland, Charlemagne hanging 
four thousand Saxons over the Weser Bridge ; did not God bless 
those terrible righteous judgments 1 Do you believe in the Old 
Testament 1 Surely, then, say, what does that destruction of the 
Canaanites mean ? If it was right, Bajah Brooke was right. If he 
be wrong, then Moses, Joshua, David, were wrong. No ! I say. 
Because Christ's kingdom is a kingdom of peace, because the meek 
alone shall inherit the earth, therefore you Malays and Dyaks of 
Sarawak, you also are enemies to peace. ' Your feet swift to shed 
blood, the poison of asps under your lips ; ' you who have been 
warned, reasoned with ; who have seen, in the case of the surround- 
ing nations, the strength and happiness which peace gives, and will 
not repent, but remain still murderers and beasts of prey — You 
are the enemies of Christ, the Prince of peace ; you are beasts, all 
the more dangerous, because you have a semi-human cunning. I 



568 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

will, like David, * hate you with a perfect hatred, even as though 
you were my enemies.' I will blast you out with gi-ape and 
rockets, ' I will beat you as small as the dust before the wind/ 
You, the strange children that dissemble with me, shall fail, and be 
exterminated, and be afraid out of your infernal river-forts, as the 
old Canaanites were out of their hill-castles. I say, honour to a 
man, who, amid all the floods of sentimental coward cant, which by 
some sudden revulsion may, and I fear will, become coward cruelty, 
dares act manfully on the broad sense of right, as Rajah Brooke 
is doing. Oh, Ludlow, Ludlow, recollect how before the '89 men 
were maundering about universal peace and philanthropy, too loving 
to hate God's enemies, too indulgent to punish sin. Recollect how 
Robespierre began by refusing, on conscientious principles, to assist 
at the punishment of death ! Just read, read the last three 
chapters of the Revelations, and then say whether these same 
organs of destructiveness and combativeness, which we now-a-days, 
in our Manich seism, consider as the devil's creation, may not be 
part of the image of God, and Christ the Son of God, to be used 
in His Service and to His glory, just as much as our benevolence 
or our veneration. Consider — and the Lord give thee grace to 
judge what I say. I may be wrong. But He will teach us both ; 
and show this to Maui'ice, and ask him if I am altogether a fiend 
therein. . . 

I have been seeing lately an intimate friend of Rajah Brooke, 
and hearing things which make me love the man more and more. 

I think the preserving that great line of coast from horrible 
outrage, by destroying the pirate fleet, 'luas loving his neighbour as 
himself. 

CCCXLVIII. 

Of the three gifted daughters of the Rev. P. Bronte, of 
Haworth Parsonage, Charlotte (Ourrer Bell) was the last sur- 
vivor. She died March 31, 1855. Although her writings were 
frequently the subject of hostile criticism she modestly forbore 
to assert herself. The privilege of telling an incurious public 
the story of a pure and unselfish life was accorded to Mrs. Gas- 
kell. Her estimate of the extent of the gap in the republic of 
letters which the death of the authoress of ' Jane Eyre ' and 
* Villette ' had caused, was abundantly confirmed, and in no in- 
stance more worthily than in the following amende honoraUe 
from the pen of the late Charles Kingsley. 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS, 569 



The Rev. Charles Kingsley to Mrs. Gashell. 

St. Leonards : May 14, 1857. 

Let me renew our long-interrupted acquaintance by compli- 
menting you on poor Miss Bronte's ' Life.' You have had a 
delicate and a great work to do, and you have done it admirably. 
Be sure that the book will do good. It will shame- literary people 
into some stronger belief that a simple, virtuous, practical home- 
life, is consistent with high imaginative genius ; and it will shame, 
too, the prudery of a not over cleanly though carefully white- 
washed age, into believing that purity is now (as in all ages till 
now) quite compatible with the knowledge of evil. I confess that 
the book has made me ashamed of myself. ' Jane Eyre ' I hardly 
looked into, very seldom reading a work of fiction — yours, indeed, 
and Thackeray's are the only ones I care to open. ' Shirley ' 
disgusted me at the opening, and I gave up the writer and her 
books with a notion that she was a person who liked coarseness. 
How I misjudged her ! and how thankful I am that I never put a 
word of my misconceptions into print, or recorded my misjudgments 
of one who is a whole heaven above me. 

Well have you done your work, and given us the picture of a 
"\aliant woman made perfect by sufferings. I shall now read care- 
fully and lovingly every word she has written, especially those 
poems, which ought not to have fallen dead as they did, and which 
seem to be (from a review in the current Fraser) of remarkable 
strength and purity. 

CCCXLIX. 

Mr. Charles Kingsley very much objected to be called 
a ' Muscular Christian.' In taking notice of a review by a 
clergyman in which this term is applied to him he is making an 
exception to his ride never to reply to the critics. 

The Rev. Charles Kingsley to a Clergyman. 

Octoher 19, 1858. 

Dear Sir, — A common reviewer, however complimentary or 

abusive, would have elicited no answer from me ; but in your notice 

of me, there is — over and above undeserved kind words — an evident 

earnestness to speak the truth and do good, which makes me write 



570 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

frankly to you. You have used that, to me painful, if not offen- 
sive, term ' Muscular Christianity.' My dear Sir, I know of no 
Christianity save one, which is the likeness of Christ, and the same 
for all men, viz., to be transformed into Christ's likeness, and to 
consecrate to His service, as far as may be, all the powers of body, 
soul, and spirit, regenerate and purified in His Spirit. All I wish to 
do is, to Gay to the strong and healthy man, even though he be not 
very learned, or wise, or even delicate-minded — in the sesthetic 
sense : * You too, can serve God with the powers which He has 
given you. He will call you to account for them, just as much as 
he will call the parson, or the devout lady.' 

You seem to be of the same mind as some good-natured youth, 
who, in reviewing me the other day, said that I must never have 
known aught but good health, never had an ache in my life. 
As if one could know health, without having known sickness, 
or joy — without having known sorrow ! . . . May God grant 
that you may never go through what I have done of sickness, 
weakness, misery, physical, mental, spiritual. You fancy that 
I cannot sympathise with the struggles of an earnest spirit, 
fettered, tormented, crushed to the very earth by bodily weak- 
ness and sickness. If I did not, I were indeed a stupid and 
a bad man ; for my life for fifteen years was nothing else but that 
struggle. But what if, when God gave to me suddenly and 
strangely health of body and peace of mind, I learnt what a price- 
less blessing that corpus sanum was, and how it helped — humi- 
liating as the confession may be to spiritual pride — to the producing 
of mentem sanam 1 What if I felt bound to tell those who had 
enjoyed all their life that health which was new to me, what a 
debt they owed to God, how they must and how they might pay 
that debt 1 Whom have I w^ronged in so doing ? What, too, if it 
has pleased God that I should have been born and bred and have 
lived ever since in the tents of Esau 1 What if — by no choice of 
my own — my relations, and friends should have been the hunters 
and fighters 1 What if, during a weakly youth, I was forced 
to watch — for it was always before my eyes — Esau rejoicing 
in his strength, and casting away his birthright for a mess 
of pottage 1 What if, by long living with him, I have learnt 
to love him as my own soul, to understand him, his capa- 
bilities, and weaknesses ? Whom have I wronged therein ? What 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 571 

if I said to myself, Jacob has a. blessing, but Esau has one also, 
though his birthright be not his; and what blessing he has he shall 
know of, that he may earn it ? Jacob can do well enough without 
me. He has some 15,000 clergy, besides dissenting preachers, 
taking care of him (though he is pretty Avell able to take care of 
himself, and understands sharp practice as well as he did in his 
father Isaac's time), and telling him that he is the only ideal ; and 
that Esau is a poor, profane blackguard, only iSt to have his blood 
■poured out like water on Crimean battle-fields, while Jacob sits 
comfortably at home, ma Icing money, and listening to those who 
preach smooth things to him '\ And what if, when 1 tried, I found 
that Esau would listen to me ; that ho had a heart as well as 
Jacob ; that he would come to hear me preach, would ask my 
advice, would tell mo his sorrows, would talk to mc about his 
mother, and what he had learnt at his mother's knee, because he 
felt that I was at least one of like passions as himself, who had 
been tempted on all points like as he was, and with many suis'i 
What if he told me at the same time that ho could not listen to 
Jacob's private chaplains, that he did not understand them, nor 
they him ; that he looked on them with alternate fear and contempt ] 
If I said to myself more and more clearly as the yeiirs rolled on, 
I will live for Esau and with Esau ; — if I be called a gluttonous 
man and a wine-bibber, the friend of publicans and sinners, there is 
One above me who was chilled the same, and to Him I commit 
myself and my work ; — it is enough for me that He knows my 
purpose, and that on Crimean battle-fields and Indian marches, 
poor Esau has died with a clearer conscience and a lighter heart 
for the words which I have spoken to him. If I have said this, 
whom have I wronged ? I have no grudge against Jacob and his 
preachers ; only when I read the 17th verse of the 3rd chapter of 
Revelations, I tremble for him, and for England, knowing well that 
on Jacob depends the well-being of England, whether physical, 
intellectual, or spiritual, and that my poor Esau is at best food 
for powder. God help him ! 

But surely there is room in God's kingdom for him, and for 
one parson ; though, thank God, there is more than one who \vill 
teach him what God requii-es of him. Therefore my mind is mado 
up. As long as Esau comes to me as to a friend ; and as long tis 
Esau's mother comes to me to save her child from his own passions 



572 ENGLISH LETTERS. [1800- 

and appetites — would God that I could do it ! — so long stall I 
labour at that which, if I cannot do it well, seems to me the only- 
thing which I can do. 



CCOL. 

By the liindness and courtesy of Sir Theodore Martin, the 
Editor has received permission to publish the following con- 
tributions from the letters of the late Prince Consort. The first 
most characteristic example does not appear in so complete a 
form in Sir Theodore's '^Life of the Prince Consort.' The 
second is the fragment quoted at page 467, vol. iv. of the same 
work. 

The Prince Consoi't to the Crown Princ2ss of Prussia. 
Buckingham Palace : April 13, 1859. 

That you take delight in modelling does not surprise me. As 
an art it is even more attractive than painting, because in it the 
thought is actually incorporated; it also derives a higher value 
and interest from the circumstance that in it we have to deal with 
the three dimensions, instead of having to do with surface merely, 
and are not called upon to resort to the illusion of perspective. 
As the artist combines material and thought without the interven- 
tion of any other medium, his creation would be perfect, if life, 
which the divine Creator can alone give, could also be breathed 
into his work ; and I quite understand and feel with the sculptor 
in the Fable, who implored the gods to let his work descend from 
its pedestal. 

We have an art, however, in which even this third element of 
creation — force and growth — is presented, and which has there- 
fore had extraordinary attractions for me of late years, indeed, I 
may say, from earliest childhood, viz. the art of gardening. In 
this the artist who lays out the work, and devises a garment for a 
piece of ground, has the delight of seeing his work live and grow, 
hour by hour, and while it is growing he is able to polish it, to cut 
and carve upon it, to fill up here and there, to hope, and to gi-ow 
fond. 

I will get Alice to read to me the article about Freemasons. It 
is not likely to contain the whole secret. The circumstance which 
provokes you only into finding fault with the order, viz. that hus- 
bands dare not communicate the secret of it to their wives, is just 



1877] ENGLISH LETTERS. 573 

one of its best features. If to he able to he silent is one of a hus- 
band's chief virtues, then the test, which puts him in opposition 
to that being, towards whom he constantly shows the greatest 
weakness, is the hardest of all tests and therefore virtue in its 
most condensed and comprehensive form. The wife, therefore, 
should not only rejoice to see him capable of withstanding such a 
test, but should take occasion out of it to vie with him in virtue, 
by taming the inborn curiosity which she inherits from mother 
Eve. 

If moreover the subject of the secret be nothing more im- 
portant than an apron, then every chance is given to virtue on 
both sides, without disturbing the confidence of marriage, which 
ought to be complete. 



CCCLI. 

The Prince Consort to the Crown Princess of Prussia. 

Buckingham Palace : June 22, 1859. 
Royal personages, to whom services are being constantly ren- 
dered, often forget, that these involve all sorts of sacrifices to the 
persons who render them, which — if those to whom they are ren- 
dered would only keep their eyes open — might be obviated and 
spared. But it is just the most faithful servants and the worthiest 
friends who are most silent about their own afiairs, and who have 
therefore to be thoroughly probed before we get at the truth. 



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tory, Biography, Scenery, Relics, and Traditions of the War for Inde- 
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LOSSING'S FIELD-BOOK OF THE WAR OF 1812. Pictorial Field- 
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History, Biography, Scenery, ReHcs, and Traditions of the last War for 
American Independence. By Benson J. Lossing. With several hun- 
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FORSTER'S LIFE OF DEAN SWIFT. The Early Life of Jonathan Swift 
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GREEN'S ENGLISH PEOPLE. History of the English People. By John 
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SHORT'S NORTH AMERICANS OF ANTIQUITY. The North Ameri- 
cans of Antiquity. Their Origin, Migrations, and Type of Civilization 
Considered, By John T. Short. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 

SQUIER'S PERU. Peru : Incidents of Travel and Exploration in the Land 
of the Incas. By E. George Squier, M.A., F.S. A., late U. S. Commissioner 
to Peru. With Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, $5 00. 

MYERS'S LOST EMPIRES. Remains of Lost Empires : Sketches of the 
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MAURY'S PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE SEA. The Physical Geog- 
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SCHWEINFURTH'S HEART OF AFRICA. The Heart of Africa. Three 
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tre of Africa — from 1868 to 18*71. By Dr. Georg Schweinftjrtii. 
Translated by Ellen E. Frewer. With an Introduction by "Winwood 
Reade. Illustrated by about 130 Wood-cuts from Drawings made by 
the Author, and with two Maps. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $8 00. 

M'CLINTOCK & STRONG'S CYCLOPEDIA. Cyclopedia of Biblical, The- 
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{Sold by Subsci'ipiion.) 

MOHAMMED AND MOHAMMEDANISM: Lectures Delivered at the 
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of Trinity College, Oxford. With an Appendix containing Emanuel 
Deutsch's Article on " Islam." 12mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

MOSHEIM'S CHURCH HISTORY. Ecclesiastical History, Ancient and 
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are considered in their connection with the State of Learning and Phi- 
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HARPER'S NEW CLASSICAL LIBRARY. Literal Translations. 
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C^SAR. — ^Yirgil. — Sallust. — Horace. — Cicero's Orations. — Cicero's 

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— Terence. — Sophocles. — Juvenal. — Xenophon. — Homer's Iliad. 

— Homer's Odyssey. — Herodotus. — Demosthenes (2 vols.). — Thu- 

CYDIDES. — JESCHYLUS. — EURIPIDES (2 Vols.). — LiVY (2 VOls.). — PlATO 

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VINCENT'S LAND OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT. The Land of the 
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Valuable WorTcs for PiiUic and Private Libraries. 5 

LIVINGSTONE'S SOUTH AFKICA. Missionary Travels and Researches 
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Zambesi, to the Eastern Ocean. By David Livingstone, LL.D., D.C.L. 
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$5 00 ; Half Calf, $6 75. 

LIVINGSTONE'S ZAMBESI.' Narrative of an Expedition to the Zambesi 
and its Tributaries, and of the Discovery of the Lakes Shirwa and 
Nyassa, 1858-1864. By David and Charles Livingstone. Map and 
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LIVINGSTONE'S LAST JOURNALS. The Last Journals of David Living- 
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Servants Chuma and Susi. By Horace Waller, F.R.G.S., Rector of 
Twywell, Northampton. With Portrait, Maps, and Illustrations, 8vo, 
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GROTE'S HISTORY OF GREECE. 12 vols., 12mo, Cloth, $18 00; Sheep, 
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RECLUS'S EARTH. The Earth : a Descriptive History of the Phenomena 
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RECLUS'S OCEAN, The Ocean, Atmosphere, and Life, Being the Second 
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Reclus. Profusely Illustrated with 250 Maps or Figures, and 27 Maps 
printed in Colors. 8vo, Cloth, $6 00. 

NORDHOFF'S COMMUNISTIC SOCIETIES OF THE UNITED STATES, 
The Communistic Societies of the United States, from Personal Visit 
and Observation ; including Detailed Accounts of the Economists, Zoar- 
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Condition. By Charles Nordhoff. Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $4 00. 

NORDHOFF'S CALIFORNIA. California : for Health, Pleasure, and Resi- 
dence, A Book for Travellers and Settlers. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, 

$2 50. 

NORDHOFF'S NORTHERN CALIFORNIA AND THE SANDWICH 
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SHAKSPEARE. The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare. With Cor- 
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8vo, Cloth, $4 00 ; Sheep, $5 00. In one vol., 8vo, Sheep, $4 00. 

BAKER'S ISMAILTA. Ismailia : a Narrative of the Expedition to Central 
Africa for the Suppression of the Slave-trade, organized by Ismail, Khe- 
dive of Egypt. By Sir Samuel White Baker, Pasha, F.R.S., F.R.G.S. 
With Maps, Portraits, and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00 ; Half Calf, 

$'7 25. 

GRIFFIS'S JAPAN. The Mikado's Empire : Book I. History of Japan, from 
600 B.C. to 1872 A.D. Book II. Personal Experiences, Observations, 
and Studies in Japan, 1870-18'74. By William Elliot Griffis, A.M., 
late of the Imperial University of TokiO, Japan. Copiously Illustrated. 
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SMILES'S HISTORY OF THE HUGUENOTS. The Huguenots : their Set- 
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SMILES'S HUGUENOTS AFTER THE REVOCATION. The Huguenots 
in France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; with a Visit 
to the Country of the Vaudois. By Samuel Smiles. Crown 8vo, Cloth, 
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SMILES'S LIFE OF THE STEPHENSONS. The Life of George Stephen- 
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the Invention and Introduction of the Railway Locomotive. By Samuel 
Smiles. With Steel Portraits and numerous Illustrations, 8vo, Cloth, 
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RAWLINSON'S MANUAL OF ANCIENT HISTORY. A Manual of An- 
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pire. Comprising the History of Chaldaea, Assyria, Media, Babylonia, 
Lydia, Phoenicia, Syria, Judaea, Egypt, Carthage, Persia, Greece, Macedo- 
nia, Parthia, and Rome. By George Rawlixsox, M.A., Camden Profess- 
or of Ancient History in the L'niversity of Oxford. 12mo, Cloth, $1 25. 

ALISON'S HISTORY OF EUROPE. First Series : From the Commence- 
ment of the French Revolution, in 1789, to the Restoration of the Bour- 
bons in 1815. [In addition to the Notes on Chapter LXXVL, which cor- 
rect the errors of the original work concerning the United States, a co- 
pious Analytical Index has been appended to this American Edition.] 
Second Series : From the Fall of Napoleon, in 1815, to the Accession of 
Louis Napoleon, in 1852. 8 vols., Svo, Cloth, $16 00; Sheep, $20 00; 
Half Calf, $34 00. 



